Adrift
by bonnyblonde
Summary: Hector Barbossa's love for Elizabeth Swann knows no end...but what of hers? Time has a way of changing one's perspective. MA for language and adult situations
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It all started with thunder, the baritone voice of the storm deepening as it roared across the waves towards the marina. As the rumbling grew and the ocean began to churn, the boats at the Key West piers strained and bucked at their lines like startled mares.

Beth Swann was thrown from her bunk and jolted painfully awake as her hip and shoulder connected with the floor. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the grogginess as she watched her belongings being tossed about the cabin. Gradually she came to understand what was turning the world on its head.

The suddenness of the gale was baffling. The seas had been calm all day as she and her crew had worked on the eighteenth century wreck they'd discovered. There hadn't been so much as a wisp of cloud to mar the bright blue vista, nor a murmur from the old salts on the docks that signaled troubling weather on the horizon.

Beth struggled upright. It didn't matter that it was unexpected; without quick action, the storm would likely tear her pilot house cruiser loose from its light moorings and batter the boat, the dock or both to pieces. Maybe it was payback from the excavation they'd been working on – the sea could be a right possessive bitch at times, not wanting to give up that which she'd already claimed for her own. Beth reached up to clasp the old ring that she'd found and hung on a delicate gold necklace around her neck. Perhaps the relic wasn't going to serve as much of a good luck piece…it had, after all, been found on a ship at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. Not much good fortune there.

She shook her head again at the thought – it was ridiculous to wonder at such nonsense with everything crashing down around her. Clad in only a t-shirt and panties, Beth stumbled to the door, tugging it open onto a chaotic scene. Water poured down the steps over her bare feet as the violet-white lightning split the sky above, blinding her briefly as she made her way out onto the deck. She could hear the shouts from the other panicked live-aboards as they fought to save their vessels from the storm's fury. Driven by the cold rush of adrenaline, she hurried to retrieve the spring lines that would secure her own craft within its berth.

The _Morgan LeFay_ was more than a boat – it was her home, the one thing that she could say truly belonged to her and no other. Her marine archaeology company, Swann Song Oceanic, subsisted on bank debt and prayer, but the cruiser was her baby. She had been an indulgence following the divorce from William, both the realization of a dream she'd had as long as she could remember and the symbol of a new beginning. She'd be damned if some freak hurricane was going to take _Morgan_ from her.

Her long wet hair whipped across her face as she jumped to the pier and struggled to double the cables, the rain numbing her fingers and making arduous work of the knots at which she was normally adept. Beth snarled in frustration and willed her trembling fingers to finish the job.

The wood beneath her feet groaned and protested the battering of the waves, the boats moored on either side of hers creaking alarmingly against the force of the gale. Another flash of lightning caused her heart to slam against her ribs; through her feet, she could feel the vibrations of the thunder that followed almost instantly afterward.

A sudden wave lifted the bow of the _Morgan LeFay_ and the line Beth was holding was yanked from her grasp, the coarseness of it shredding the skin on her palms as it went. She bit back a scream and tucked her hands beneath her arms to ease the burn, angry tears filling her eyes. Shaking her head to clear the water from her vision and heedless of the pain, she again grabbed hold of the line and tightly pulled it around one of the pilings. She repeated the task on the starboard side and continued on until her boat was held firm by no less than sixteen lines.

Shaking from nervous exhaustion, Beth hoped that her nautical home could safely weather the storm for a few hours and that the dock itself would hold together. She lurched her way to the ladder so she could climb aboard and take shelter from the biting winds and bone-chilling downpour. At that moment, though, the cruiser in the next berth broke free of its restraints and rose up with the churning crests.

Beth turned with a gasp and saw the looming silhouette of the ship just as it came down again with a roar, smashing some of the planks underneath it. She frantically grabbed at the ladder as she lost her foot hold and was able to grasp one of the rungs as the boards upon which she'd been standing fell away from beneath her.

She pulled herself further up the ladder and rested her forehead against the side of her beloved boat, trying to catch her breath and calm her heart. Enough was enough…time to batten down the hatches, hunker down in the cabin and ride it out as much as possible. Beth weakly pulled herself up, wondering how long it would take before she felt warm again.

Perhaps it was the cold, the unrelenting force of the rain or her own numbed thoughts, but she didn't even notice the hulking shape at the top of the ladder until she was about to embark. Large rough hands grabbed hold her wrists, pulling them away from the ladder. As she cried out in surprise, the attacker tugged her hard against his chest. He was dressed in a dark raincoat, the hood hanging down over his face to hide his identity.

"What, no man to die for you this time, whore?" he hissed at her, his fetid breath causing her stomach to turn. She twisted and tried to break his hold, but he squeezed hard and she could feel the bones in her wrist move over one another painfully. Beth bit down on her lip, her stubborn pride keeping her from crying out. What did he mean, no man to die for her?

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about! Get off of my boat, you bastard!" Beth ducked her head down and bit one of his hands as hard as she could. Warm blood flowed into her mouth and he roared with rage.

He let go of one of her wrists, but only long enough that he could backhand her across the face, drawing blood of his own. Had he not been holding her, she would have collapsed and fallen back down the ladder – as it was, he pulled her back against him and ducked his head to mutter in her ear.

"That was just a love tap, beautiful. You'll get a taste of real pain if you don't back off from that lovely ship you found wrecked in the Gulf." He jerked her so that her head fell back and he slowly licked the blood from her chin. "'Course, maybe you like pain. We could have a time, you n' me."

Beth closed her eyes and turned her head as far away as she could, trying to not gag. "I'll back off when I'm done my job. As for 'having a time,' as you put it – I try to keep my relationships within the same species, so you can go to hell."

The stranger laughed low in his throat. "Ladies first." He thrust her away suddenly, releasing her wrists. She frantically clawed the air but there was nothing there to grab, nothing to stop her from plummeting to the ruined dock below.

Christening the frame of the pier with the back of her head, Beth felt the jolting pain and then dizzying sickness. Her momentum carried her into the water and as the churning blackness swallowed her, the last tenuous thought she had was of how it felt as though the ocean was embracing her in its arms like a long-lost love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hector Barbossa and two members of his crew rode through the storm towards the docks, fighting the rain and the wind to keep on a straight course. The call to the goddess's service was always a violent thing, almost as though the world went through the pains of childbirth whenever she saw fit to summon him. Tied to her he was, and Hector had little choice but to submit to Calypso's will.

T'was his own foolish fault, truth be told. Pretty words had he uttered at the Brethren Court centuries earlier about men relying only upon themselves, but when it looked as though the _Pearl_ and all aboard would be lost upon their quest for the Fountain of Youth, he had in a moment of weakness again begged her favour. He'd been dead once and a return to the eternal grey sleep was nothing to hurry.

Grant the blessings she had, and those aboard the _Black Pearl_ had found the healing waters of Ponce de Leon's legendary wellspring. It had been as magical as the tales had promised – each man who drank from the fountain had the clock on his life turned back ten years, renewed fire in his heart and loins, and keen sharpness of mind. Like all of the goddess's gifts, though, there was a price to pay.

A new curse of sorts, 'twas, 'though nothing compared to that of Cortes. So long as they served Calypso, they lived on as they'd been the day they'd consumed the water. Not immortal, exactly – they could die if the injury was dire enough, and some of the crew had gone that way whether through battle or despair. But no disease, no affliction of age could touch them, even as decades and then centuries passed. May not have been his choice, exactly, but he'd had far worse visited upon him. At least this time he could smell, feel, taste…

A flash of lightning shook him from his reverie, and he watched as the entire wharf flared briefly into view. They slowed as they approached and Barbossa shook his head at the chaos that the storm had wrought. The flimsy ships – the ones not sitting upon the deck in pieces, that is – bobbed around like children's toys on strings, hopelessly tethered to the one place that would do the most damage. Not that cutting ties and facing the storm head-on in open water would work for any of these piss-poor sailors, even if their boats had the size and heft to take it. Any fool with enough coin could call himself captain, but it was an empty title for most what sailed nowadays.

The wind-driven rain whipped against Hector's cheeks, numbing his skin as it howled its disapproval at his mission. Ducking their heads against the onslaught, he and his men bore down and made their way across the debris-strewn waterfront towards the _Morgan LeFay_ and her precious cargo.

"There she is, Cap'n!" Pintel shouted over the din. Rain streamed over the crewman's bald pate but could not dampen his grinning enthusiasm over locating the ship first; he was nearly jumping with the excitement of discovery. Hector impatiently signaled him forward and the trio carefully made their way over scraps of sailcloth and bits of mast over towards the cabin cruiser.

As they approached the _Morgan LeFay's_ berth, a dark form dropped from the side of the craft and quickly disappeared amongst the shadows on the docks. Hector's heart sank like a stone in his chest; if they were too late…

"Move!" he shouted at his men and they ran towards what remained of the pier around the craft. Ragetti arrived steps before the other two, scrambling up the ladder like the monkey that had once ridden Hector's shoulder. Hector was about to follow when a glimpse of something pale and white in the water by the bow caught his eye. It took him a moment to realize that it wasn't just another piece of wreckage but instead a slender and lifeless arm.

He threw off his heavy jacket and plunged into the water, heedless of the way in which the ship above him was lurching in its berth. As he surfaced, the waves pummeled at his head, making it impossible to see and harder again to keep from being beaten against either the boat or the dock. Hector frantically twisted in circles, stretching his long arms through the water until something bumped against his hand.

An instant later he had her, curling her slight, limp form against his body with one arm as he reached out towards what he hoped was the direction of dock. Strong hands seized hold of his wrist and pulled him forward through the spray. Hector's shoulder jarred against an old slimy tire that had been nailed to the piling to act as a bumper, and he growled as he yanked his hand away from his would-be rescuers. Clinging instead to the tire, he hollered, "Grab the girl, ye daft curs!"

Ragetti and Pintel dropped to their knees, each grabbing a listless arm and relieving Hector of his burden long enough that he could pull himself from the water. No sooner was he on the pier but he took the woman from the crewmen, carrying her from the ruined part of the dock and cradling her in his arms as he went down on bended knee on a more solid bit of pier. Carefully he smoothed her hair away so he could see her face.

Her skin shone like alabaster in the flashing light, her wet eyelashes kissing her cold cheeks. Bubbles of foam trickled from the corner of her mouth; but for that, she could have been carved from marble for all the colour in her skin. Elizabeth Swann, beautiful as he remembered. Lovely but remote, unattainable as always.

"Cap'n, there's nothin' fer it…she's gone on…" Ragetti softly lamented, reaching out to touch her face.

"Quiet!" Hector slapped the skinny lad's hand out of the way and silenced him with a hard look. He laid a hand on her chest – not a breath passed her blue-tinged lips but could he feel the quiver of a heartbeat? He pressed his ear to her breast…yes! Barely there but there nonetheless. Still hope then, thanks be!

He stood suddenly, twirling her in his arms so that her back was to him. Making a fist with one hand and grabbing it with the other, he pulled back as hard as he could and thrust up beneath her ribs. Water spewed from her mouth, the sea swill leaching down between the slats at their feet. She remained limp in his arms and Hector squeezed again, the water coming again in a steady stream.

When he released the pressure in preparation for yet another attempt, he felt her body spasm against his and she vomited a vile mixture of brine and stomach contents over the feet of both Ragetti and Pintel.

"Ugh! I just bought these boots!" Pintel exclaimed, jumping back too late to avoid the worst of it. Ragetti made a shocked sound and Pintel, his eyes popping as he realized what he'd said, stuttered in horror as he looked to his captain. "Uh…I'm sorry…just so long as the lass is okay…I mean, boots are nothin'…"

Hector ignored the outburst. Keeping an arm about her waist, he gently lifted her head with his hand and settled it against his shoulder. "Aye, girl…let's have a breath now," he whispered against her neck, his lips skimming her cool, smooth skin.

As if responding to his persuasions, Elizabeth took a single shuddering gasp and then broke into wet, wracking coughs so fierce that he nearly lost his hold. Hector pulled her back against his chest, murmuring soothing sounds as she gradually choked the last of the water from her lungs.

The storm around them was abating somewhat; the rain still fell in sheets, but the wind had quieted a bit and the clouds had spent their fury. In his arms his charge was stirring awake, shakily trying to find her feet like a newborn filly. Barbossa relaxed his grip a bit and Elizabeth grabbed a hold of his arms to keep her balance. She turned her head to see who held her.

"Wha…what…happened?" she muttered, looking more dazed than worried when she looked into his face. She slowly closed and opened her eyes again, a delicate hand going to her head as she swayed against him. Hector slipped a hand beneath her elbow to steady her.

"Ye ran afoul of a storm, missy…" he began.

"'Ello, poppet!" cried out Pintel, suddenly and loudly enough that he jolted the girl into shocked wakefulness. He took a step towards her, his eyes and smile so wide that they seemed aglow. Elizabeth's own eyes widened in panic and she pushed herself away from Hector, stumbling as she backed quickly away from the three men before her.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, looking around for what Barbossa could only assume was a weapon. Her eyes lit upon a splintered plank and she grabbed it, moving it in an arc from side to side, trying to look fierce. Had to admire her fire, standing there in naught but her undergarments, a soakin' wet slip of a thing. Her passion, at least, had not changed. T'was only bluster, 'though – her fear came off her in waves.

"Ye'll come to no harm by us," Hector said quietly, shooting Pintel a look that warned of swift and painful retribution at a later time. Barbossa backed off a step and motioned for his men to do the same in an attempt to calm the agitated girl.

"Cap'n…" Ragetti said, his attention on his boss rather than the lady.

"Keep yer wits," Barbossa muttered between clenched teeth, waving him off while keeping his eye on Elizabeth.

"Yer shirt, Cap'n!" A scrawny finger was pointing right at him, alarm on the crewman's face.

"Fer the love of St. Elmo, boy!" he roared, but then saw Elizabeth staring at his chest as well. He finally glanced down and watched as a deep scarlet stain spread across his white shirt, the rain running red down his body.

A flash back to a cavern and a single shot – he could almost hear it as he tugged the shirt open. His heart pounded; if it didn't hurt, then surely it could not be grievous. Carefully and with fingers that trembled slightly, Barbossa probed the spot…no pain, no gash. His skin was unbroken. The blood wasn't his, but there was so much. Too much.

His gaze found Elizabeth's again at the same moment they both realized who had left the crimson mark. The jagged bit of lumber dropped from her grasp, forgotten as her hand touched and then came away from the back of her head, blood dripping from her long thin fingers. Looking at the gore, her mouth dropped open in a perfect "o" of surprise.

Elizabeth gave Hector a look of wounded disbelief that squeezed at his heart. He shook his head, silently forswearing both his part in her injury and the fact that she could be hurt so badly. It was then that her legs buckled beneath her and she dropped to her knees, her eyes rolling back in her head as she fell sideways.

Had he hesitated for even a moment, she'd have likely gone and made the damage worse still as her head hit wood. As it was, Hector grabbed her up and laid her as gently as he could over his shoulder. As he grasped the boat's ladder and began to ascend, he shouted at his men in a way that invited no argument and had them clambering over one another to comply.

"Pintel, Ragetti – cast off lines 'n go aboard! Make ready to sail. We go to Wisteria!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was the cry of the gulls that Beth heard first, their pleading song pulling her from the dark fog of her dreams. Waves lapping against the hull, voices calling back and forth, and the warm sun peering through the porthole next to her bunk signaled the start of another normal day on the Keys. Turning her face from her pillow, she inhaled the salt air deeply and stretched.

That proved to be a mistake. Pain rushed in on her, a throbbing ache in her hands and wrists accompanied with a piercing agony in her head so intense that she nearly sobbed. She tried to sit up but the room began to spin around, and she carefully lowered herself back down with a muffled whimper. Beth opened her eyes but the daylight brought on new waves of intense anguish and she let her heavy lids fall shut against the onslaught.

Pieces of the night before gradually seeped in as she took deep breaths, trying to battle the pain. There'd been a storm, sudden and terrible. A dark figure, a fall and a jarring impact. Cold water, a fight for air. And blood, a lot of it.

If her memories were just that and not part of some elaborate hallucination, how had she ended up back on board and in her own bunk? Maybe she had a concussion and the rest could be explained by delirium.

Tentatively she brought a hand up to explore the back of her head where it hurt the most, gasping as her fingers found the wound. There was a horizontal row of tight stitches that seemed to go on forever and beneath her hair, her scalp was swollen, bumpy and tender. She dared to crack one eye open and saw that there were dark purple marks around her wrists and deep abrasions on her hands.

As her level of wakefulness rose, she became aware of a pressing need to use the head. Mindful of her injuries, she slowly lowered first one and then her other leg to the cool wooden floor, kneeling beside her bed with her head on the mattress while she paused to rest. The pain throbbed in time with her heartbeat and she remained there for a few moments more, afraid of passing out. At the worst, Beth figured she'd fractured her skull; at best, she had a severe concussion. Either way, it felt as though her brain was trying to push its way out through her temples.

Rather than risk standing she crawled, naked and cold, the few yards over in order to get done what she needed. Afterwards she pulled herself slowly up using the sink for leverage, breathing deeply again as she gained a slightly uncertain balance. A glance in the mirror had her grimacing; she looked almost as awful as she felt. Her hair was a tangled, dirty rat's nest and dark crescents had taken up tenancy beneath her eyes. Not exactly beauty contest material but she would likely survive.

She puzzled at her nudity until she saw her t-shirt and underwear in a sodden mess in the shower stall; her clothes must have been soaked in the storm. Not being able to remember removing them, though, made her uneasy.

Confused thoughts running through her mind, she moistened a cloth with some warm water and soap, cautiously wiping her face. As an afterthought, she brushed her teeth to rid herself of the foul taste in her mouth. Neither ritual relieved the pain but she felt just a little bit more human afterwards, a little bit more in control.

As she again examined her reflection, Beth heard thumps from above and realized that someone was walking across the deck towards the aft steps. Her heart pounded in her chest, making her dizzy once again. She was immediately angry with herself for her reaction. Someone had taken care of her; that much was clear. It made sense that that person – likely one of her neighbours – would be coming to check on her to see how she was feeling.

But what if it wasn't, a wary little voice warned. Maybe the dark shape from the night before wasn't a figment of her imagination after all. In fact, the longer she thought on it, the more Beth convinced herself that whoever was coming was not a friend. At any rate, it was not a chance she wanted to take.

She snatched a towel from the shower rod and wrapped it tightly around herself, cinching it up between her breasts. Keeping her hand against the wall for support, she crept her way back to the bunk as quickly as she was able on shaky legs. Tugging open one of the small drawers beneath the bed, Beth fished out the .38 Smith & Wesson Special that had belonged to her father and tried to load the rounds as quietly as possible. A few of the cartridges fell from her fingers onto the wooden slats and she froze, waiting for some sign that whoever was up top had heard the noise.

There was no change in the pace of the footsteps, 'though the unknown intruder had started down the stairs already. What Beth did hear was a man singing brashly in time with his heavy stride, his voice gravelly but not disagreeable.

_"Where 'tis wave o'er wave, sea o'er bow  
I'm happy a man as the sea will allow  
Thar's no other life fer a sailor like me  
But to sail the salt sea, boys, sail the sea  
Thar's no other life but to sail the salt sea…"_

Beth clasped her weapon tightly and moved to the door, again crawling on her knees. She reached up to the knob and turned it as slowly as possible, cracking the door open just enough that she could see the stairwell.

The boots she saw first – heavy black leather boots, decorated with silver rings and studs. These were followed by a pair of demin-covered legs, long and clearly muscular even from beneath the fabric.

A wide chest and a flat stomach in a tight white t-shirt came into view…then powerful looking arms and broad shoulders. Whoever he was paused on the stair, the song trailing away and Beth held her breath, unconsciously backing up a few inches before it occurred to her that he already knew she was on board. His hesitation, though, told her that he sensed her scrutiny.

He descended the last few steps and stopped, his face clear at last. The guy was older than she was by quite a bit – maybe approaching 50 years compared to her 30. His features were those of a man who had spent his life outdoors, weather-worn and tanned.

His auburn hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and he sported a neatly trimmed beard of the same ginger hue. A knowing smile curved his well- proportioned lips and his pale eyes fixed themselves on the door behind which she cowered.

Overall, he cut a rather imposing figure and although not what some would call classically handsome, he had a rather appealing and decidedly masculine presence. Fortunately, her brain wasn't so addled that she'd think an attractive man could not pose a very real danger.

There was something almost familiar in his countenance, though. Someone from her very distant memory, maybe, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She wondered if she'd ever be able to think straight again…

Beth's cell phone trilled from somewhere close by and startled her, getting her heart racing once again. She'd left it in the galley last night after dinner, too far out of her reach now and any call for assistance she might have made. Her uninvited guest narrowed his eyes at her door before wandering off towards the incessant ringing.

Her way to the staircase was clear; if she could keep her legs moving forward, she'd at least be out of the confined space and in public. Some measure of safety in that, 'though if this person was intent on hurting her, there'd likely be little she could do to protect herself.

She eased the door the rest of the way open and had taken only two hesitant steps when she heard him talking, presumably on the cell phone and to whomever had called her. She halted, wanting desperately to know who was on the other end and wondering if she screamed loudly enough, they'd hear.

"Nay, she canna talk. Had a bit of a spill durin' the storm, ye see. Not really fit for conversation. Would you be wantin' to leave a message?" He stepped out of the galley then, grinning at her in an all-too-knowing manner as he spoke, his West Country accent sharp. "Jim, ye say? I'll be sure to let 'er know."

Jim Norrington! A federal investigator and a friend of her late father's, he was probably calling to check on her after news of the storm had gotten around. He could be a bit of a watchdog when it came to her, but perhaps his over-protectiveness was warranted in this case.

He flipped the phone closed at the same time that Beth cocked the hammer and pointed the gun at his chest. "Give it to me!" she demanded, gesturing at the phone with the barrel of her piece. "Give it to me and get off my boat!"

The smug smile faded from his lips and his eyes – she could see now that they were blue – grew dark and cold. He slipped the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. "Or ye'll what, young missy? Shoot a man in cold blood? Are ye sure ye want to be doin' that, given as I'm the one what saved yer skinny ass last night?"

Beth opened her mouth to reply then closed it again. Was that true? She had a quick flash of memory, of being cradled in someone's arms, of gentle words and touches. That she was naked when she awoke now angered her…no doubt he had done the honours. She didn't think anything had happened, but the fact that she had been that vulnerable and had no memory of it shook her. Damn it! Trying to put together the events of the previous night was like spotting pearls in a bucket of milk.

"I've only your word that you're my rescuer, haven't I?" she retorted haughtily, provoking a rough laugh from her companion.

"Aye, that be true. Well, if yer planning on shootin' me, best get on with it. I'll not wait 'round all day to die."

With that he stepped forward and seized her by the shoulders, pulling her to him so hard that the breath was knocked from her lungs. He wrapped his long fingers around her gun hand and jammed it against his ribcage, twisting her bruised wrist until the barrel was again pointed at his heart. His other arm he snaked around behind her back, holding her fast.

"Wouldn't want ye to miss," he whispered, his breath blowing wisps of her hair against her face. "Be sure ye get it right on the first shot."

She whimpered at the ache in her hand. He'd called her bluff and knew it. He hadn't hurt her, hadn't even threatened to do so. There was no way she could even attempt to take a life without some overt menace; it simply wasn't in her.

With her free hand she pushed against the flexing muscles of his chest and feebly attempted escape, but his hold was firm. If anything, he pulled her tighter still, the length of her body pressed fully against his. Beth gasped at the sensation and his chin jutted forward, his eyes challenging her to scream, to protest, to fight – to submit. Finally he took hold of the gun, wrenching it from her hand and tossing it onto a nearby chair without breaking eye contact.

"If'n I wanted to harm ye," he said softly, "I'd likely have done so by now. As it is, my intentions are strictly…honourable."

He closed his eyes and leaned towards her. Gently he nuzzled her cheek with his nose, inhaling her scent and causing her to shiver as the air moved over her neck. He was warm and smelled intoxicatingly of sea, leather and soap. Held as she was, each small movement he made – from the simple act of breathing to the each minute shift of his stance and yes, to the unmistakable hardness stirring against her thigh – heightened her awareness and awoke something long dormant in her body.

With his proximity it became harder to breathe. Beth knew this was a bad situation but she felt helpless to break away. What was wrong with her? Her head swam as the hand that had lain flat on the small of her back began to move, finding her smooth bare skin and caressing in light circles. It wasn't until he started pulling the towel from her body that she finally awoke from her haze.

"No! Please!" Beth cried softly, clutching the ends of the terry cloth that had been tugged loose. She began to tremble, but whether it was because of the pain of her injuries, from fear or from something else altogether, she was afraid to wonder.

The man pulled back sharply and looked down at her. His expression softened and his eyes showed regret. "Sorry I am, lass. I ferget me place, taking liberties when none were offered. Yer hurt and need to take to yer bed. Fret not, no one will lay a finger upon ye here."

He stepped back, holding his hands up in capitulation as she fumbled to decently cover herself once more. She glared at him indignantly, wanting to lash out at this man…this perfect stranger who'd dared to touch her in such a way.

She likely would have made an incredibly clever and cutting remark, too, but at that moment her vision started to get a bit dark around the edges and sounds got very far away. She didn't even realize she was falling until he caught her and swept her up into his arms.

"Ye can't be up and about yet, Elizabeth Turner. Found ye near death last night, don't want to be facin' that again."

Exhaustion had taken the fight out of her all at once and she didn't resist as he carried her back to her stateroom. He laid her gently on her sheets and pulled the covers up over her legs.

"I'll send Doc down to check ye up. If'n ye need me, ye need only call out. I won't be far," he assured, gently squeezing Beth's hand before turning to go. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, and he looked back at her in surprise.

"Who are you?"

He gave her a crooked grin. "That's a bit of a long explanation. Fer now ye can call me Hector."

"Hector," she repeated, already losing consciousness. Her hand dropped and he stepped away from the bed. "It's 'Swann'," she sighed, just catching his attention before he was out of hearing.

"Come ag'in?"

"You called me 'Turner'. It used to be, but now it's 'Swann'."

He smiled at her once more. "Then rest, Elizabeth Swann. We'll talk when yer up to the task."

As Beth drifted off, she wondered fleetingly how he knew her name at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Barbossa stood at the bow of Elizabeth's boat, his belly a-mix with both nerves and elation. As he waited for word from the doctor, he watched the active little pirate community awaken around him and pondered the turn the voyage of his life had now taken.

'Round about four decades past had Hector and the men of the _Black Pearl_ made their home here on Wisteria, a little spit of Florida land far enough out to avoid trouble and close enough in that all their needs were easily met. Good a place as any but he had begun to feel restless once more. Putting down roots on shore had never felt right and he'd yet to find any place that felt as much like home as had the _Pearl_. Damn but he missed that ship!

For nearly a hundred years they'd wandered the islands through what had been known as the Spanish Main. They'd gathered swag as they could and lived like kings, making home in whate'er port struck their fancies. Their lives as pirates had run aground, though, when they'd lost the _Pearl_. Sunk to the depths, it had, lost in the Gulf of Mexico to a mine meant to stop the running of blockaded ports during the American Civil War.

A long string of lesser craft had they put to sea since that time and while he was glad to put off a meeting with Old Hob, he found the world afterward somehow lacking. From time to time Calypso would call them with a task to perform, but rare it was that the challenge was one that made him feel as alive as he had at the helm of that infamous ship.

Captain and crew had watched the world around them change and they'd carefully fashioned places for themselves within it. Always room for them on the fringes, there was; always a need for those who lived outside the rules that governed civilized folk. It wasn't 'til half way through the twentieth century that they'd found a role that seemed familiar, one that gave the men back a little somethin' of what they'd once been.

"Cap'n! We're gonna take the Spectre to the marina n' get the bikes back to the warehouse!" shouted Angus Mullroy, striding towards him across the wharf to where they'd made berth with the_Morgan LeFay_ the night prior.

Barbossa sauntered to the gunwale and leaned over, jabbing a finger in the crewman's direction. "Ye best be takin' care with me pan shovel, ya grimy rat, or 'tis yer hide we'll be usin' to make new seat covers fer the crew!"

The warning prompted nothin' but a wide grin from the portly former Royal Navy seaman. "Aye, sir. Always do." He turned and ran down the dock towards the powerboat, pulling on his leather 'Black Hearts Motorcycle Club' vest as he went.

Hector grunted and shook his head. There was a time when those who served under him wouldn't have dared such insolence, but the passing of the years had changed them all. The few dozen crewmen who still followed him had mellowed as battle grew to be naught but a distant memory and their coffers groaned from the weight of accumulated wealth. Those in polite society had a reproachful respect for the biker gang, that much was true, but it weren't anything near the fear that had once been inspired by the sight of his colours on the mast, coming fast over the horizon.

He laced his fingers together, bending to lean on his forearms against the gunwale. The weight of his once-lost ring was heavy on his hand and Barbossa twisted it round, watching as the golden bear's head glinted in the sunlight. What game was Calypso playing at, he wondered. The ring had been on a chain about Elizabeth's neck, calling to him like a beacon across the waves as the goddess charged them with their new duties. The second time the girl had played that part in the tale, 'though this time hers was the life that needed saving rather than his own.

Calypso didn't provide explanations, she gave only commands. Appearing in his dreams, she'd warned of danger to Elizabeth and demanded that he do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. From what he'd seen of the young woman thus far, the new incarnation differed little from the last…no shrinking violet, she, and unlikely to acknowledge any need of protection. Knew her own mind and followed her own heart. A little older than when he'd last laid eyes upon her, true, but no less beguiling for that. And keeping her from harm's way was going to be work, 'though being around her again…

He sighed and cursed Calypso for her cruelty.

"Captain?" came the tentative voice from behind him, bringing him back to himself.

"Aye, Marilyn. How's our patient?" he turned, answering her query with a small smile.

Marilyn Brock had been only 12 when they'd found her hungry and desperate on the docks near the Port of New Orleans in 1948. The crew, in an unusual turn of events, had taken her in and insisted on raising her despite Barbossa's disinclination to allow an outsider into their group.

In time her presence grew on him and he'd educated the girl as best he could, giving to her stacks of books to fuel her unquenchable need to learn. She'd earned the nickname "Doc" for her enduring interest in medical texts and had served as physician, dentist and confidante fer them insofar as they ever needed such things. Marilyn alone knew truth of what they were, a secret they'd been unable to keep as she'd aged and they had remained as she'd first known them.

She stepped towards him, shyly brushing a long grey lock back from her face as she met his gaze. When Marilyn had blossomed into womanhood so long ago, her eye and heart had turned his way. Despite his resolute refusal to indulge her (she was like a daughter, for the love of all that be holy!), she'd pined over him for nigh on 50 years. He felt guilt at times that she'd wasted her life upon a bunch of selfish and uncouth men such as they, but she'd always rejected any suggestion that she leave and make a life for herself outside of the colony.

"The swelling around the stitches looks much better – head wounds always bleed a great deal but the skull is intact. There is, though, still the matter of the concussion, sir. There may even be hairline fractures; we can monitor her for a few days to see how she recovers and decide if she needs to be in a hospital. Fluid on the brain is what we need to watch for now. She's asleep now but I did check her pupils and they are responding as they should."

"Thankee, Marilyn. Don't know as how we'd get along without ye," he said, bowing to her graciously.

"It's just my job, Captain." Marilyn looked away bashfully and smiled, obviously pleased with his compliment. "I'll come back in a few hours and check on her again."

He nodded his acknowledgement and watched as she scurried off. Heaven bless Marilyn, but even in her prime she'd not held a candle to either the spirit or splendour of the girl now slumbering below deck. It wasn't charitable to say so, especially given what Marilyn had sacrificed to stay with them, but that made it no less true.

For the time being, Elizabeth Turner…no, that wasn't right, he recalled with a slightly satisfied smirk…Elizabeth Swann was safe in his care, least while he could keep her on Wisteria and away from the mainland. But there was someone out there with a mind to do her great injury, and he knew she'd not be content to hole up aboard her boat while they figured out the source of the threat and dealt with it.

Perhaps it would be best to pretend that nothing untoward had happened at all, let her continue as she'd been and lure the coward out that way. The real trick would be in convincing the lass that he and his men needed to stay close by. Sure he was that she could handle herself – had he not seen it himself time and again? But maybe the woman she was now lacked the skills that she'd had back in the day; Hector'd not gamble her life on a notion.

Time to be thinking upon a strategy that would see a profitable outcome for everyone involved.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The simple fact of being clean changed everything.

Despite the doctor's advice to the contrary, Beth had insisted upon taking a shower and washing away three day's worth of convalescence. The hot water streaming over her body relaxed muscles and soothed aches like a magical elixir; even the ever-present headache had began to dissipate as she carefully massaged the shampoo onto her scalp and down through her hair.

Maybe not quite as good as new, but she'd had more than enough of lounging about and brooding on the events of the past few days. There were no shortage of questions in her mind, most of which revolved around the man who claimed to have ridden to her rescue, but he'd made himself scarce as she'd recovered. Regardless of how persuasive Beth had tried to be, neither the doctor nor the doctor's errand-running Blackhearts would answer any of the hundred questions she had about their leader.

Well, the big bad biker and his motley crew could play whatever game they liked, but she'd made up her mind that it was time to get back to her life. Or her work, at the very least. It amounted to basically the same thing for her since her father's death and her divorce.

Beth stepped from the shower, grief jabbing her heart unexpectedly and bringing tears to her eyes. Her father had been gone for nearly five years now, brought down by a madman's bullet at the podium of a political rally, a wild shot meant for a president and not just a state's governor. Through the wonder of modern broadcasting, she'd been able to listen to the crack of the rifle and see the sickened horror on her father's face over and over again…it was a chance to suffer the loss anew each time the media replayed the clip. She didn't know how she would have been able to endure that time if it hadn't been for William…

And then a few years later, even that consolation had vanished. There were no terrible arguments, no real anger between her and her husband at all until long after they'd grown so distant that it no longer served any purpose. Fighting might have been preferable to the void that had become their marriage. Perhaps if they'd been able to have a baby, if she'd not received the heartbreaking news that the damage done by the ectopic pregnancy had meant she would remain forever barren, they might have tried harder to make it work.

Their lives had diverged. She was increasingly drawn to the sea, driven to discover its secrets and to reclaim its history. William saw his life as so much larger than hers; as a public defender, he believed it his duty to fight for the greater good and to right every wrong. He felt she was wasting her potential; she should have been running a museum or teaching at a university, not splashing about in the water looking for pieces of junk. Her lack of vision frustrated and embarrassed him.

For Beth, it was William's blind (though he'd say 'noble') ambition and the absence of any romance in his heart that left her cold. She loved the esoteric nature of her work and the unknown adventure that began each reclamation project…her father would have understood and encouraged it. Success in maritime archaeology wasn't measured merely by financial value but also in finding the piece that could reveal a tale lost for generations.

In the end, what had started as a grand love story had turned into just another failed marriage as he withdrew into his career and she immersed herself in the creation of her company. A few signatures on some long pieces of paper and the door had slammed shut on all they'd once been to one another.

Enough already! Self pity was pointless and counter-productive, Beth chided herself as she towelled off her hair. The only thing that mattered right now was making a go of Swann Song Oceanic. Getting back to the wreck had to be her first priority.  
She hadn't been able to get in touch with her staff since the accident, although it wasn't for lack of trying. Her cell phone had not reappeared since that first day and the phone call from Jim. The satellite phone and internet on the _Morgan LeFay_ were in perfect working order…if you didn't count the lack of an antenna as a detriment to functionality.

The way in which her caretakers stalled her was frustrating but she'd not felt well enough for the first little while to do much about it. Strangely, Beth didn't sense any malice in their actions; far from it. From the apologetic way in which Marilyn and a few of the others had denied her requests, she was sure they thought they were doing what was best for her.

Truth be told, it wasn't as if the people working the wreck site weren't perfectly competent – they were likely continuing on just fine without her. She wanted to be there, though. Wanted to be the first one to see whatever treasures lay in the hold of the old ship. She had a good feeling about this one…

She'd been delayed long enough. If she couldn't call the site, she'd just have to go in person. Excited once again at all that she hoped lay under the warm blue Gulf waters, Beth hurriedly tugged her clothes on. Ah, the feeling of cool, clean cotton against her skin. Yes, she was almost herself again.

Padding up the stairs and into the pilot house, she smiled as she ran her fingers over the beautifully designed oak helm, the wheel carved by a master craftsman with an obvious love for his work. The ship had been built in the 1930s, meant as a pleasure craft for a gangster who'd made his fortune running bootleg rum during Prohibition. The _Morgan LeFay_ had gone through a series of owners since that time, most of whom hadn't made much of an effort to maintain her. The fact that the boat came from a nefarious past had intrigued Beth and she'd snapped the old girl up at auction, sinking every penny of her inheritance into restoring the cruiser to her former glory.

"A fine piece of work," said a voice from behind her, and when she turned to see Hector standing there, she found herself swallowing hard. Beth had never been one for the bad boys, but the man truly was a vision of sin in blue jeans and black leather. He leaned against the doorway, his thumbs hitched in his front pockets and his long hair held in check by a dark bandanna, looking entirely too pleased at her scrutiny. "Ship ain't bad either."

She gave him a withering look despite the unexpected rush the compliment – and his appearance – had given her. "I haven't seen you around for some time. I wanted to let you know that I'll be leaving today. I appreciate your kindness but it's time I got back."

"Aye, I thought as much," he said, sauntering up beside her to look out towards the bow. "Marilyn told me ye weren't an easy patient to keep a-bed. Told me, too, that ye have yer share of questions."

He turned his piercing blue eyes on her and she felt her cheeks flush. "I don't think you can blame me for my curiosity."

"'Course not," he answered with a shrug. "I'll even encourage it to a point. Ask away, I'll answer as best I can."

"Okay," she started, feeling bolder. "Tell me how you knew my name and how you came to be at the marina when I ran into trouble." She took a few steps away, settling into a chair so she could better read his reactions from a distance. It had nothing whatsoever to do with his unsettling closeness – of that she was sure.

He let his hands drift over the wheel, his long elegant fingers caressing the spokes in a way that took her mind in decidedly un-nautical directions. "We heard tell that yer company was looking for shipboard labour. The boys and I decided to track ye down and offer ye our services." Hector turned to look at her, a glint in his eyes. "So happens we have what ye might call 'considerable expertise' when it comes to retrievin' lost objects."

"You believe running a gang qualifies you to work on board a recovery vessel?" Beth huffed her disbelief, folding her arms in front of her. "Or is this just a hobby and you're secretly a professor in underwater archaeology from Florida State University?

He laughed softly. "Judge not, Miss Swann. We weren't always as ye see us now." He shrugged off the leather jacket, giving her a chance to appreciate the way his pectorals flexed against his black t-shirt. Having casually tossed the jacket over the wheel, he strode over to where she sat and crouched in front of her.

She leaned further back in her chair and started to cross her legs, determined to keep him at bay. It made it difficult to think when he was too near and she wasn't at all pleased with the way in which parts of her body, despite all of her efforts to stifle the reaction, were beginning to sit up and take notice.

Hector wasn't having any of it, though, and stopped her knee in mid-lift, gently settling it back on the floor in front of her. He slid forward into the gap, his forearms resting on her thighs as her legs spread to accommodate his bulk.

Her heart thrummed in anticipation as his hands began to move, but he was only taking a ring from his finger and holding it out to her. "Found this hangin' round yer neck. What say ye of its origins?"

Brow furrowed, she reached out to take from his fingers the ring her divers had pulled from the wreck. "You took this from me? Why?"

He looked annoyed. "T'was just holdin' it fer ye. Ye haven't answered me question."

"It could be English, 'though some of the design work is reminiscent of Spanish goldsmiths," Beth intoned, trying to sound composed as she gave the ring a closer examination than was strictly necessary. It wasn't as if she hadn't already spent hours scrutinizing it, but doing so now gave her something to think of other than how her voice started to waver. "I'd put it in the mid-1700s somewhere, based on the style and quality of the work."

Hector took it gently back from her, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having. He held the ring up so the bear's head caught the sunlight. "Did ye know that before explorers brought back fantastic tales of lions from deepest Africa, there were those who thought the bear to be the king of beasts? Feared the creatures were, but admired too fer their tenacity and strength."

He took hold of one of her hands and slowly slipped the large ring around her index finger. As he did so, the air in the pilot house seemed to get very warm and she began to feel a bit light in the head. "There be a beautiful and ancient city in Spain on the coast of the Mediterranean called Tarragona. Through the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries it housed some of the finest shipyards and so some of the finest ship builders as well. T'was their guild as claimed this symbol for their own. There were none as could match those master craftsman from Tarragona, lass. Them as wore this ring were respected 'round the civilized world; like the bear, none could stand before them. Their work made Spain the force t'was upon the waves."

Hector looked down at the ring and ran his thumb over the bear's head, a wistful smile on his face. Her hand still rested in his, the heat of his flesh warming her own, and neither of them attempted to break the contact. She knew she shouldn't lead him on, shouldn't let him believe that there was even a remote possibility that she could be interested in someone like him…but then his thumb left the ring and slowly caressed her fingers instead, sending tingles up the length of her arm that threatened to turn into shivers.

"Extraordinary," she whispered, glancing up only to get caught in his gaze, his eyes hooded and seductive. Her throat suddenly seemed very dry and she unconsciously licked her bottom lip, sucking in a quick breath when she saw his eye widen in response.

"So what say ye?" he murmured, staring at her mouth.

Beth's heart gave a little squeeze, quite against her will. He really did have wonderful lips – not thin like on some men, but quite full and sensuous.

"Say? To what?" It would be so easy to lean forward just now…a taste, that's all she wanted. And wasn't it all he wanted, too? Well, maybe not all he wanted, but that's as far as she would let it go.

He leaned back a bit, a rather self-satisfied grin creasing the lines around his eyes. "Do I qualify to serve, miss? I assure ye that me back be up to the task but does that bit o' knowledge prove me fit to work with yer company?"

"Oh," she replied, finally pulling her hand from his, embarrassed. She crossed her arms once more over her chest, trying to disguise the more visible signs of her reaction to his attention. "I can't pay much…"

He rose, slipping his hands beneath her elbows and lifting her along as he straightened up. "Can't be worrying yerself in that regard. I'll gather me men and we'll prepare to make sail." He ducked his head to catch her eyes once more, his expression solemn. "Don't ye fret. I promise I won't disappoint ye."

The sentiment struck her as odd and in a sudden dawn of understanding, Beth was sure she knew what was happening. He wasn't trying to get close to her… it was really about getting access to the wreck! He might even be in league with or trying to out-maneuver her attacker, using sweet persuasion instead of force.

"What's this really about?" she blurted angrily.

"What're ye meanin'?" He looked so taken aback at her about-face that in other circumstances, she might have laughed. She definitely didn't feel like it now.

"I mean, who am I to you, really? What do you want from me? You appear in the middle of the night, supposedly looking for work. You just happen to save my life and then keep me here, incommunicado, on the island of Lost Boys. Why not just drop me off at a hospital and be done with me? Just what am I supposed to think? You're a complete stranger…you have no reason to help me and I have no reason to trust you!"

Beth tried to yank herself away but Hector tightened his hold on her arms, baring his teeth at her as he spoke.

"Have I done a thing to hurt ye, to make ye feel as if this be anythin' but a safe habour for ye?" he hissed, clearly wounded. "Yer in danger and haven't the sense to know when to keep yer head down, ye stubborn wench! Ye want to go? Then go, says I. I'll not keep ye from yer own stupidity!"

He pushed her roughly and spun away from her, the muscles in his back flexing as he clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. Beth's mouth gaped, simultaneously frightened at his outburst and moved at the passion of his speech.

There was an ache in her chest now, an overwhelming realization of having done something not so easily un-done. It had finally dawned on her that he was trying to protect her. That's why he'd brought her here, why he'd kept her from contacting anyone else and revealing her location. And she'd returned his kindness with suspicion and accusations. What did it say about the world that gallantry went so utterly unrecognized? Worse, what did it say about her?

"Hector…I'm sorry. I was out of line, I truly didn't understand until now…"

He took a deep breath but still wouldn't turn. Beth massaged her face with her hands and walked back to the helm, holding the wheel in her hand and looking out across the water. Hector was right; she was in trouble and other than knowing that it had something to do with their discovery of the wreck, she had no idea why or from whom. She was clearly out of her depth and he was willing to help. Or had been, at least. And while she wasn't entirely sure she bought his story about seeking work, she did know that whatever the reasons were for his presence that night, she'd not likely have lived through it without him.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She didn't know what else to say to fix things between them but she had to try. She owed him that at the very least. There was damned little chivalry left it the world now as it was and she for one wasn't going to let it pass unheralded.

Beth returned to where he was standing, tentatively reaching out to touch his shoulder. When he spun back around on her, his eyes still ablaze, she knew that words weren't going to be enough.

There was anger, yes, but more than that she'd hurt him. She didn't completely understand it…how could he place so much value on her words without really knowing her? But even absent that understanding, she longed to erase the pain from his face.

Beth slowly lifted her hand, hesitating when she saw her fingers tremble. He wasn't someone to be taken lightly…what would it mean to touch him now? Why did she feel so compelled to do so? And if she did, what would she be risking? Never more did she appreciate the saying about still waters running deep than when she looked at this man.

She steeled herself against her uncertainty and reached up to brush his cheek with her fingertips, willing him read the apology in her eyes. Hector froze in surprise, not moving but watching her now with a heated anticipation that emboldened her further.

With new confidence she stepped closer, keeping her eyes locked with his. She let her hand slide from his face to his shoulder, then down onto his chest where she felt his thunderous heartbeat beneath her fingers. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her gaze falling to the inviting curve of his mouth. As she watched, his lips parted in a shaky breath and she gave in to her impulse, conveying her regret with a kiss.

It had only been meant to cool his anger – to sooth the injury she'd inflicted, or so she told herself – but when he finally began to kiss back, the reasons behind her actions no longer seemed relevant. The reality of having his lips move against hers far surpassed the callow imaginings she'd allowed herself earlier.

Beth thought she had known what it would be like to kiss him, had thought it would be something primal …something befitting a man as rough, as purely physical as Hector. But instead he was gentle, kissing her as though he sought to memorize each tender taste. The touch of his lips was achingly soft but the effect was not; waves of pleasure rolled through her and she had to grasp his shoulder to steady herself as it threatened to sweep her away.

He withdrew slightly and she made a sound of protest, her eyes fluttering open to look up into his. Her breath caught in her throat at the hunger she saw there, a longing so deep that it caused her heart to pound as if trying to escape her chest. She cradled his face in her hands, whimpering with need as she captured his lips once more.

His close warm scent surrounded her and the more she breathed it in, the more she needed him. His taste was intoxicating, heady as rich red wine, and she moaned against his mouth, greedy for all he would give. How long had it been since she had felt like this? Had she ever reacted in such a way to a simple kiss?

Her arms slid up around his neck and he settled his hands on her hips, pulling her closer as they continued their tender assault upon one another. The apology was nearly forgotten altogether when Hector traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, coaxing her mouth open, and their kiss took a turn from needful to desperate.

Heat swirled inside of her, nearly reducing her to tears with its intensity. His tongue eased deeply into her mouth, teasing hers with a slick caress that nearly sent her over the edge. She'd had more than she could take. Her patience finally spent, Beth kept him entranced with the kiss as she let her arms drop, ripping his t-shirt from his jeans so she could slip her hands beneath and at last explore his taut bare skin.

Suddenly Hector pulled back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Lovely 'Lizabeth," he gasped, lifting her arms from around his waist. He folded her hands into his and gathered them to his chest, trying to keep them still. "What was in yer head, doin' somethin' like that?"

"What? Why…why are you stopping?" she panted, trying to free her arms so she could hold him again. She stared up at him in hazy confusion.

"Can't happen, not like this."

"What on earth are you talking about?" She lunged towards him but he turned his face away, shaking his head.

"Right now ye kiss me as though yer life depends on it, but I'm wonderin' – what is it as drives yer lust? I'm not of a mind to be turnin' ye down, girl, but I'll not have ye take this course out of regret or fear."

Beth's heart was still pounding, her desire sending unbearable jolts through her lower body. "You can't tell me you don't want this! Damn you, you've done everything possible to seduce me since you stepped foot on my ship!"

"'Course I want ye," he replied, his voice lower. "Have ye not wondered at me absence these three days past? Almost took ye that first day, hurt though ye were. Couldn't trust meself not to try again."

"But...ARGH! So what you're saying is that I'm so incredibly delicate that I can't possibly make a rational decision, that I am only doing this because I'm scared or feel as if I owe you?!" She was practically shaking from frustration and want.

"I think ye might not know yer own mind." He lifted his chin defiantly.

Saving her from herself…that was rich! "Here is what I think, Mr. Outlaw Biker!" she shouted, shoving him backwards with all the strength she could muster. She pushed him so hard, in fact, that before he could stop his momentum, he hit one of the pilot house windows hard enough to crack it. She didn't care; it was worth the look of surprise on his face.

Beth followed him and grabbed fistfuls of his t-shirt. "I think that you like to play with your prey. I think that you're afraid to lose control of the situation, so now you're putting on the brakes and pretending it's the noble thing to do. Or maybe…" she whispered, standing on her tiptoes so he would be sure to hear, "Maybe you're not _capable_ of taking it any further."

The last word had barely left her lips when he roared, grabbing her wrists and spinning her around so she was trapped between him and the glass. He held both her hands above her head with one of his, savaging her mouth with a kiss that sent shockwaves down through her womb.

Beth parted her lips to welcome him, desperate again for the taste of his desire. She needed more than kisses now, though. As if he had read her thoughts, Hector slipped his knee in between her legs and she wrapped her calf around his hip, riding him slowly to relieve some of the nearly unbearable ache throbbing at the crux of her thighs.

His beard was harsh against the delicate skin of her face, but the friction was delicious and only fuelled her need further. Slowly his free hand slipped beneath her shirt, his breathing harsh as his wonderful fingers journeyed up her ribs to find her breast. Beth arched into his touch, moaning as his thumb traced an excruciating path around her tight nipple.

"Ye'll find no mercy here now, Elizabeth Swann," he growled. "I'll grant ye no quarter."

"Anything you want," she cried. "Just…please, my hands…I need to touch you…"

He made a sound deep in his throat and released his hold upon her, and she nearly crowed with her victory. As he returned to devouring her lips, she tugged and tore at his shirt once more. They drew apart for just an instant so she could pull it over his head and run her hands over the smooth planes of his chest. It was his turn to bow his back as her teeth found their mark, his breath shuddering from his lungs as she bit down and then soothed him with a brush of her fingers.

The bandana had slipped to the floor with his top and his hair slid over his shoulders, glinting like copper in the sunlight. Unable to help herself, she pushed a hand into its burnished softness, tugging him back in so she could savour those wonderful lips of his again.

Her loose hand snaked down between them, finding the impossibly hard ridge of his arousal bulging against skin-tight jeans. Beth squeezed, causing him to gasp and thrust against her palm. Her heart soared to know she'd brought him to this point, undone by his need for her.

"What do you want, Hector?" she murmured, leaning over to lick a line up his neck to the sensitive, throbbing point beneath his jaw. At the same time, she continued to stroke him, dragging her nails up and down the long stiff swell of his erection.

"To have ye beneath me," Hector rasped, his breath hitching with each touch of her fingers. "To have ye cry me name and beg fer release!"

Beth let out a trembling sigh. "I want that, too. Now."

He was steering her towards the stairs when they heard the sound – the roar of high powered boat engines, approaching quickly. They looked at one another, the spell broken at once. Beth could hear members of Hector's gang outside taking up the alarm. One of the crew, a lean and homely man with a glass eye, clambered up onto the _Morgan LeFay_ and came rushing towards the pilot house. "Cap'n Barbossa! Oh…!"

He stopped abruptly at the sight of them tangled together, out of breath and disheveled. The poor man turned away so quickly that he stumbled over his own feet. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss. Cap'n, three boats, heading in fast!"

"Thankee, Master Ragetti. Arm yerselves, I'll be right along." He wrapped his arms around her once again and tried to compose himself as soon as the other man had left. The real world could intrude in an instant – Beth had forgotten about that in the sway of her hunger. She buried her face in his shoulder, holding him tightly one last time before reluctantly letting him go.

"Ye'll be stayin' put, do ye understan'?" Hector warned, sweeping the hair from his face with one hand while he retrieved his t-shirt. "I haven't the strength to argue the point with ye right now."

Beth nodded, silently accepting his demand. She couldn't have followed if she'd wanted – her legs weren't capable of carrying her anywhere. He looked at her one last time, clearly lamenting the necessity of his departure before he followed Ragetti and went to face whoever had dared to disrupt the inevitable.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The three boats looked to belong to some manner of official, Hector thought. Not that it was an unusual an occurrence on Wisteria. Theirs was a favourite destination for law enforcement, but rare was the visitor of this kind what went away satisfied. The Black Hearts were very careful; they'd had many a year to hone their profession.

Hector pulled his shirt back on and as he rolled it down, he felt the tender spots on his chest that marked Elizabeth's ardent attentions. A smile tugged at one side of this face. Always knew how to vex him, she did – that hadn't changed. Knew, too, just what to say to get her way and in this instance, he'd let her have the control she'd craved. Next time he'd not be so lenient.

But passion be passion and business be business, and he had to leave all thoughts of pleasurable company behind for now and deal with the half dozen armour-clad men who had just come ashore.

He finally disembarked from Elizabeth's cruiser and stalked over to where his crew had formed a cordon around the newcomers. The interlopers hadn't yet drawn their guns, but they were badly outnumbered by men whose codes for combat weren't quite so regulated as their own, and he knew it'd take naught but a single error for the situation to go all pear-shaped.

The Black Hearts parted around Hector as he approached and he smiled his most disarming smile at the man in charge. Taller than Hector, he was, and rigid in such a way so as to mark him as a military man. There was an underlying current, though, that signalled that the formal demeanour was not as easily maintained as the gent might like to pretend.

"Gents," Hector said, greeting them jovially and with hands clearly empty of weapons. "Welcome to Wisteria Island. What can we do fer ye this fine day?"

"I'm Deputy United States Marshal Norrington, Special Operations Unit," snapped the tall one, flashing a badge and speaking in a voice meant to address the entire group. "We have reason to believe that there is a woman being held against her will on this island and we have taken temporary jurisdiction in order to make a search."

"That right?" Hector answered cautiously. "And ye believe that, why?" Norrington's appearance marked another interesting development. 'Though he'd not had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a certain Commodore James Norrington some centuries back, could it be that this man was one and the same, come back as had Elizabeth? And if so, what was his tie to the girl now?

"Well, for starters," said Deputy Norrington, a snide smirk on his face, "her ship appears to be docked right there." He pointed at the _Morgan LeFay_ and raised his eyebrow, waiting for Hector to dig himself deeper yet.

"And this woman…what'd ye say be her name?"

"Well, before I share that information with you, suppose you tell me to whom I am speaking, sir?" Norrington was looking cross now, his hands flexing against where his gun lay.

"Ah, ye must fergive me bad manners. Hector Barbossa, sir. Pleased to make yer acquaintance," he said, bowing his head slightly while keeping his eyes upon those of the marshal. Deferential seemed to work best with these types, so long as Norrington didn't mistake it for weakness.

"Quite. Well, Mr. Barbossa…"

"Captain, actually," interrupted Hector, hating at that moment how much he sounded like Jack Sparrow, curse his tattooed hide.

"Captain, is it? Of what, may I ask?" Norrington looked amused at the thought.

"Of yonder dinghy, fer starters," answered Barbossa, "the one at the end of the long pier."

Even Norrington couldn't fail to be impressed at the _Corazón Perdido_, the 100 foot sailing ketch dwarfing everything else docked nearby, her black sails furled for the time being. Just weren't a ship worth her weight as didn't have black sails, so far as Hector was concerned.

"Fair enough, _Captain_ Barbossa," Norrington turned away from the ship and immediately raised the gun so that it was aimed at Hector's face. "Now, you will tell me the whereabouts of Ms. Elizabeth Swann and you will do so immediately."

Hector held his hand up and gave a backward glare, silently indicating to his crew to hold steady and keep their weapons concealed for now. He gave Norrington another ingratiating smile, 'though he knew the man was close to the edge already.

"Before I do so, can ye tell me why ye believe that Ms. Swann's presence here signals something sinister? Perhaps she be here of her own accord."

Norrington's knuckles were whitening on the trigger. "She's not returned any calls from her employees…or…any others. She can't be raised on her cell phone or her on-board satellite communications system, she's not answered any email and she hasn't been at work for three days. Do you feel that might be sufficient cause for concern, Captain?"

Inclining his head, Barbossa acknowledged that might be so. "Fine, Deputy United States Marshal Norrington. I'll take ye to 'er, but it must be ye alone. She's not up to a grand gathering such as that ye've brought along."

"Lead the way, then." Norrington motioned Hector forward with his gun, and the crew parted to allow them through, although not without sending dark and threatening glances after them.

The two men walked back down the pier, Hector a few feet ahead. "She's been well cared fer here. She just wasn't fit enough to leave, not until today at least."

Norrington snorted. "She'd have to be sick if she purposefully chose to remain in the company of a bunch of degenerates."

Hector let it pass. The remark wasn't worth starting anything over, at least not yet.

Once they reached the _Morgan LeFay_, Norrington waved him away and boarded first. Hector gave him a few moments before following himself; he'd not leave her alone with anyone. A badge was no sure sign of good will or pure motives.

"Beth! Beth, are you here? It's Jim!"

Hector hoisted himself up on deck. Jim, was it? Didn't sound like much of an official visit after all. This one had his own reasons for being here that had nothing to do with the office he served.

"Jim? Oh my God, what are you doing here?" Elizabeth answered finally, emerging from the pilot house. She still looked a bit ruffled and as if realizing it, tried to straighten her hair somewhat as the marshal approached.

"Beth, we've been looking for you!" Norrington had grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into an embrace, clinging to her despite not receiving much of a response. "We tracked the transponder in your ship. I couldn't believe it when we finally figured out where you'd been taken."

"Jim, I'm fine, it's okay…ow!" she gasped, wincing in obvious discomfort from the pressure the hold was putting on her still-healing body. "I knew you'd called, but I didn't have an opportunity to get back to you…"

"Yer causin' her pain, boy. Ye need to let 'er be. I'll not tell ye twice," Barbossa warned, stepping towards where the two stood on deck.

Ignoring him entirely, Norrington stepped back to take a better look at her. He finally noticed the bruises and cuts, now nearly healed but still looking ugly. Rage filled his face. "What have they done to you? I swear to God…" He turned, and as he caught Barbossa in his sights, he again drew his gun.

"Damned fool! Yer the one as is hurtin' the girl," Hector growled. He kicked Norrington's leg out from under him and grabbed the man's hand as he fell, twisting until the gun dropped to the deck. The marshal wrested himself free and leapt up, taking a swing at Hector and almost connecting with his jaw before Elizabeth stepped in between them. She fought to keep them apart, a hand on each man's chest.

"Stop! That's enough! Just reel them back in, both of you!" she barked at them. "You," she demanded of Hector, "back against the gunwale." He complied reluctantly, ready to jump back into the fray if the situation so required.

"And you," she scolded Norrington, keeping herself well out of his reach, "He's done nothing wrong…none of them have! I had a terrible…accident during that freak storm; if it wasn't for Hector and his men finding me and bringing me back here, I'd probably be dead!"

"Of course, Beth…I'm sorry, I didn't know," the deputy said, trying to grasp her again and getting straight-armed by Elizabeth for his efforts. Hector shot him a threatening glare just for attempting it. "But I'm here now, I can get you back home and we can get you looked at properly. It's inconceivable that you've had to tolerate these conditions for as long as you have."

"Jim…I appreciate that you came looking for me; I really do," she reassured, continuing to keep him literally at arm's length. "But as you can see, I'm in no danger and not terribly worse for wear." Elizabeth looked back at Hector, an enigmatic smile on her lips. Truth was she didn't need any help handling this whelp, he grudgingly had to admit.

Norrington didn't miss it the shared glance and shock flared on his face. "Beth…" He took her arm, leading here away from where Barbossa stood. In a lower voice he said, "You can't be serious about staying here with these…people. For God's sake, Barbossa and his men are _bikers_! What would your father say?"

Hector could see from Elizabeth's stormy expression that young Norrington had made a serious tactical error and he almost felt bad for him. The poor fool was infatuated with the girl; that much had been clear since the moment he'd come aboard her ship. It seemed likely that the feeling would remain unrequited, though, and doubly so as long as he was prone to daft comments.

She was winding herself into a rage. "He would say that he'd raised a daughter fully capable of looking after her own best interests, one who was of sufficient intelligence to make decisions without the benefit of an over-protective, condescending, self-appointed babysitter!"

Norrington's expression fell. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry…it's just…we've all been sick with worry. Okay, I've been sick with worry. Just humour me, will you? Let me take you away from this place and back home to where I know you'll be safe."

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips…another danger sign, Hector thought to himself, glad not to be in the marshal's place. There wasn't a badge been made as could save him now.

"Back to your home, you mean. We're standing on mine, in case you hadn't noticed." She stepped up so she was right in front of him and poked him in the well-armoured chest with her finger. "I'm not yours to protect. Don't make the mistake of thinking that I need you and your gun-toting posse to save me."

His face darkened with disbelief and fury. "You don't need me, but you do need him, is that it? You think I missed that simpering, cow-eyed gaze you two shared? I can't believe you'd stoop that low. You have never been one for slumming it. Honestly, I'd have thought you'd have more self-respect that to spread your legs for someone like…"

The slap across young Norrington's face was hard enough that Hector couldn't help flinching himself. He'd seen fury like that before but it had been on the face of the sea goddess. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure which one he'd rather be going up against.

"You will get off of my ship, you will leave this island and you will not harass these men in any way! You invoked my father, let me do the same…if you so much as stop one of them for a boating violation, I will make some phone calls to a few of Father's old friends and I'll have you pulling assignments in some one-horse town in the mid-west for the remainder of your career. Do I make myself clear, Deputy Norrington!?" She stepped back to where Hector stood, her stone cold glare never leaving the lad's face.

The marshal seemed to diminish before Hector's eyes, looking reproachful and rubbing his cheek where a hot-looking red welt had risen. "I'm sorry. I always thought that someday…what I mean is, all I've ever wanted is the best for you."

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation but her anger had gone. "I tried to tell you…I do appreciate that you care. But you can't put a leash on me and have me take the path that you'd dictate. That was William's mistake, too. You have to let me find my own way and trust in me enough to believe that I know what I'm doing."

Norrington composed himself once more, shrugging off his wounded pride as he straightened his shoulders. "It's your bed to make. Someday I hope you'll realize your mistake."

"Perhaps I will," she answered. "But that will be my problem, not yours."

"Indeed. Goodbye, Beth."

Norrington snatched up his weapon and re-holstered it as he left the ship, Hector trailing him to the ladder to make sure he was gone for good. He needn't have worried; as Norrington ordered his men back to their boats, he didn't so much as look back. The roar of the engines drowned out every other sound for a few moments, and then the marshals were on their way back to the mainland. Barbossa watched as the crew dispersed and resumed their everyday tasks, glad that the tense situation had resolved itself.

When he looked back around, Elizabeth was gone.

He contemplated following her but in the end decided it was best to leave her to her own thoughts for a while. It had been a day of high emotions; better that she come to accept the change in tide on her own terms.

* * *

The sun had nearly disappeared beneath the horizon before Elizabeth again made an appearance. She'd tracked him down to his ship and crossed over the gangway to board. He watched her from the corner of his eye, her arms crossed against the cooler evening air. She made her way to where he stood drinking red wine and watching the night creep across the water.

"Good evenin', Miss Swann," he greeted her as she came and took a spot at his side. "Can I be offerin' ye a drink? Ye can join me in a toast to the sunset."

"No, thank you, Captain Barbossa," she answered, returning his formality. "I'm still on some pain medication and I don't want to take a chance on mixing the two."

"A wise choice," Hector agreed. "Marilyn would have me head on a pike if ye took a turn for the worse."

They stood together in silence for a while, listening as the waves crested against the hull and the gulls called an end to the day. He glanced over at her, struck at once by the beauty of her face in the fading golden dusk. She turned her deep brown eyes on him, a warm smile on her face. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Ye know better than to ask that," he said, reaching out to caress her cheek with his finger. "I've travelled more places than ye could e'er dream of and I've yet to see another so fair in face and so fiery in spirit as yerself."

His words startled her and he saw something suspiciously like tears form in her eyes before she could turn away. "I've never met anyone like you, Hector. You are truly an enigma."

"Nay, nothing so mysterious. Just a man."

She turned back to him, her eyes still glistening. "No, you're not 'just' anything."

He understood that she meant it kindly, but if she knew anything approaching the truth about who he really was – or worse, what he once had been – she'd likely have a much less flattering opinion.

When he didn't respond, she cleared her throat and said in a falsely brighter voice, "Thank you for sending my cell phone back, by the way. I got in touch with my deck boss this afternoon and he said the removal of the silt layer is going well. My timing is good; they expect to start laying out the reference grid and excavating artifacts from the wreck tomorrow."

Now there was a prospect as gave him mixed feelings. No question which ship she'd found, not with his ring in her possession. How would it be to see bits of his life dredged from the ocean's bottom? "Ye must be pleased with that," he answered weakly.

"Of course! It's a chance for a glimpse into another world, isn't it?"

"Oh, aye," Hector said distractedly, wondering if he could remember exactly what they'd had to leave aboard the _Pearl_ as she sank out of sight.

"I'm glad we'll have you along to help. Or…the offer still stands, doesn't it? Hello?"

It took him a heartbeat to realize that she had posed a question. "Apologies. My mind be navigatin' deep waters this evenin'. What was it ye were askin'?"

"I was wondering…were you and your men still willing to come and help out at the site? We're desperate for extra hands."

He grunted. "Wouldn't be lettin' ye go there on yer own. Ye'd not be safe."

Elizabeth gazed at him, indecision on her face. "Hector…I have something to ask you, and I don't want you to get mad at me…whatever the truth is, I'll accept it."

"Ask away," he replied guardedly. It had been his experience that conversations starting in that dubious manner rarely ended well.

She took to examining her fingernails, afraid to look at him. "Why did you really show up at the Key West pier that night? And don't tell me it was to ask about work – it's perfectly clear that you don't need the money. Please, I need to know."

Hector sighed, putting down his wine glass and taking her hands in his so he could turn her to face him. "I canna tell ye everythin' girl, but this much I'll share. We'd been told ye might be in danger and we were charged with protectin' ye. Almost failed in our duty, too…had we been but a few minutes later…"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't understand. Who would have told you that? Why wouldn't that person have contacted me directly or even have called the police? Why you?"

"I can speak to neither her intent nor her deeds, 'Lizabeth. It's enough fer now to understand that she knew she could rely upon me and me crew to do what needed doin'."

"She?" Elizabeth asked, baffled.

"That's all I can give ye. I'd say to ye, though…look to yer heart and ye'll know ye can trust me." He laid a gentle hand over the spot on her chest from whence her lifeblood sprang, her skin cool to his warm touch.

She stared up at him, searching his eyes for the answers he been forbidden from providing. Finally she nodded, looking suddenly weary. "I do know that. I just wish I had a handle on what was happening."

"I know, lass. And I'm wishin' I could tell ye, but 'tis not fer me to do so."

"I believe you," she assured him, and he could read the truth of her words on her face. "I think I'm going to return to _Morgan_ now. The day has caught up with me and I'm utterly exhausted." She laid her hand atop of his, absently caressing his fingers.

Hector leaned down and brushed her lips with his. "Ye could stay here aboard the _Corazón Perdido_ tonight. Stay with me…"

He felt her smile. "I'm thinking that sleep would be the last thing I could expect on this vessel, Captain."

"Aye," he murmured, sliding his hand down so he could lightly skim the side of her breast through her blouse. "And if ye give me but half a chance, it would be the last thing on yer mind, too."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, her lips parting in a silent gasp. He took advantage and kissed her then, wrapping an arm around her back and drawing her close so he could delve deeper. She opened her lips wide, but it took him a moment to understand that it was out of fatigue rather than passion.

She pulled away and quickly covered her mouth, trying to stifle the yawn. "Oh Hector…I'm so sorry." Patches of crimson coloured her cheeks and she looked appalled.

He tried to sound hurt. "Must be losin' me touch. Never yet had a woman succumb to sleep before she could succumb to me charms."

"And I don't intend to be the first. When I do take advantage of your considerable… charms," she said softly, tracing a twirling pattern on the crescent of bare skin above his collar with one delicate finger, "I want to be able to give you everything I've got."

Hector cleared his throat, the mere thought of it nearly overcoming his best of intentions. "Well, when ye put it that way, I suppose I'd best let ye enjoy the comfort of yer own bunk tonight. But be warned…if'n ye tarry, I won't be held responsible for me actions."

Elizabeth grinned slyly and stepped back, holding his hand for as long as her arm could reach before she turned to leave. He very nearly didn't let her go. Having her here, having her touch him so…it would test the fortitude of any man. Hector finally relented, though, and let her slender fingers slip through his. It had been hundreds of years of waitin' already; no sense rushing her now.

Before she crossed back over the gangway, though, she paused and called back to him. "Hector…you say you came to look out for me and not because you were seeking work. Was what you told me about the ring made up? Does that mean you don't know anything about eighteenth century relics after all?"

Barbossa laughed heartily. "The story of the ring be true, missy. And I can promise ye that there won't be anyone else on yer expedition as knows more about what yer retrievin' from that ship than I – ye've me word on that."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The next day was gloriously warm. A decent night's rest had left Beth feeling much better despite the fact it took a few hours before sleep had actually come to her once she retired. The very enticing thoughts of what might have happened had she stayed aboard Hector's ship had kept her awake far longer than she would have liked. No matter now, though. Seeing the boats anchored around the wreck site drove all memory of fatigue from her body.

"Betsy! Welcome back, luv!" Tony Newson, her deck boss, lifted Beth up in his arms and twirled her around as she jumped from the _Morgan LeFay_ and boarded the _Penzance_, the decommissioned British minesweeper she'd had converted into a floating base camp.

"Thanks, Tony. I can't wait to see what we're dealing with here!" She disentangled herself from the old Aussie's arms with a smile. The man was a legend in the retrieval of sunken treasures and could have named his price with any salvage group, but he chose to work with her and her fledgling company instead. When he took the job, he'd told her it was because he needed to work with someone who was doing it out of love rather than greed. In lieu of a decent pay cheque, she'd given him a small share of the company and counted her blessings every day that he was there to help show her the way.

"We got the grid set up this morning over the debris field; Lance and Jennifer are ready to get to work with the suctorials, but we all wanted to wait for you to suit up and join in. Didn't think we'd ever hear the end of it if we went out on our own."

"You know me too well," she grinned back at him, only to see confusion and not just a little concern on his face as he looked past her. Beth turned and realized that in her excitement, she'd forgotten to tell him about their new comrades.

"Oh. Tony, I'd like you to meet some friends of mine…they're going to give us a hand with some of the heavy lifting," she said, leading the deck boss over to where Hector and his men stood. "These are Misters Mullroy, Pintel, Murtogg and Ragetti…and Captain Barbossa. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Tony Newson…he organizes my staff, keeps things moving around here."

There was a pause as the men sized one another up and Beth glanced nervously between Tony and the others. All at once Hector's men broke out in wide smiles, pushing past one another to shake Tony's hand and talking all at the same time.

"We're here to help, matey…"

"Just point us in the right direction, we'll take care of things fer ye…"

"Pleasure ta meet cha…"

"Right impressive boat, 'tis…"

Only Hector remained unmoving, waiting impassively as his crew received their assignments and moved off to become familiar with the ship. Tony eventually turned back to them, looking a bit overwhelmed at the sudden influx of manpower. "And how 'bout you, mate?" he directed his attention to Hector. "Shall I find something useful for you to do?"

"No," Beth interjected, seeing Hector's face tighten. "I've a specific project in mind for him. He's going to help me catalogue our finds; he has a background in ships' artefacts from the 1700s."

Tony arched his eyebrow. "That so? Can't say your name is familiar …who have you worked with that I might know?"

It was with some sense of alarm that she watched Hector straighten his shoulders and curl his hands into fists at his side. "I'm doubtin' that we keep the same set of acquaintances," he growled at the deck boss.

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly," Tony sneered.

"Have ye somethin' as needs sayin', Mr. Newson?" Hector replied with a grin full of malice. "Perhaps a private word away from the lady might be in order."

"Too right, chump!" snarled the deck boss as he puffed out his chest and took a step forward.

"Tony," said Beth, taking an arm and pulling him along. "Let's take a moment, shall we? I'll be right back, Hector." The larger man inclined his head, silently accepting her intervention. She'd made it clear on the voyage out the she was in command while they were aboard the _Penzance_ and she was grateful that he was content, for the moment, to honour that arrangement. She knew, though, that he was reaching the limits of his patience.

"This pommy bastard is bad news, Bets. I don't know what you were thinking, bringing drongos like these out to our operation…" Tony sputtered as he was led away, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Hector. In return, she saw Hector give him a decidedly disingenuous smirk.

Beth held up a hand to halt his verbal rampage. "Listen, there's something you need to know before you go all 'alpha male' on me. I didn't tell you on the phone yesterday, but there was an incident the night of the storm. Someone came aboard _Morgan_ and threatened me…and then tried to make good on his threat."

Her friend looked stunned. "Bloody hell! What happened?!"

She explained her injuries and the care she'd been given. "Someone doesn't want us out here, and we can't watch our backs and do our jobs at the same time. If having Hector and his crew out here means we can focus on retrieval and reclamation, then we'll be better for it. And I need to know I can count on you to make it all work. Promise me. Please."

He looked at her sadly, shaking his head in disappointment. All at once she felt as though she was ten years old again and had brought home a bad report card. "That bop to the noggin must have been a bad one if you think this lot will make the situation any better. More likely than not we're gonna end up with a blood bath on our hands and it'll be our people caught in the crossfire."

She threw her hands up, her frustration brimming over. "What would you have me do, then? This project could be the big break that Swann Song needs. Really, Tony…it could be the difference between buying new equipment and holding a garage sale at the end of the pier to get rid of what we have now."

"You don't need to be telling me the lay of the land, girly. I'm into this operation for no small part," he snapped.

Beth took a deep breath, trying to compose herself before she said something she couldn't take back. "I know that. But the difference between us is this…if this whole thing blows up in our faces, you can walk into a job the next day anywhere in the world. This is all I've got and if I screw it up, my reputation will be crap and I'll be finished. Worse still, William would have been right about my chosen profession all along and I don't think I could stand that."

Tony's mouth twitched in something approximating a smile before he turned dead serious once more. "God knows I wouldn't want that little wanker to think he'd got something on you. But you need to understand that you're taking a dark road here."

"I'm not asking for your blessing but I will ask you to respect my decision," she said, nearly pleading. It hurt more than she could stand that in this, he lacked faith. "If you trust me, then you have to trust them. They've never shown me anything but kindness, and if they are willing to step up and help keep things afloat, then how can we turn that down?"

The ship swayed beneath their feet and the silence between them stretched on. Tony sighed heavily, his eyes searching the heavens as he struggled for an answer. Finally he looked down at her with resignation and not just a little indulgence on his weather-beaten face.

"I suppose that if there's trouble out there, these blokes are the ones to give a little trouble back. If it keeps you safe, then I'll make it work. I won't like it, but we'll give 'er a fair go."

A lump had grown in her throat and it threatened to choke off her words as she spoke, her gratitude for his friendship and support unexpectedly overwhelming. Beth wrapped her arms around him and drew him in tight. "Thank you, Tony. I couldn't do any of this without you."

"Bah! Enough!" he grumbled, uncomfortable at the turn in her emotional tide. "Leave off and let the battlers get some work done around here." Tony wriggled his way out of her embrace and turned away, wiping suspiciously at his own eye as he went to check on his staff.

Beth watched him go and rubbed at her forehead, a migraine threatening to creep in as her blood pressure increased. This was supposed to have been the best part of her day – how long had she waited to get a good close look at the wreck? But the constant sniping was starting to get a little old. Worse, the need for her to step in as referee was positively wearing. She felt tired once again – her earlier enthusiasm had waned.

"Are ye fallin' ill?" Hector asked as she returned to him, his face drawn in concern. He clasped her arm and pulled her closer, lifting her head with a finger beneath her chin so he could better see her face.

She gave an exasperated laugh. "Why is it, Hector, that you seem determined to bring out the very worst in the men I know? Not everything needs to be a pissing match!"

He snorted. "I'll not be challenged by the likes of them, 'Lizabeth. 'Tis not in me nature. Ye want a lap dog, ye can have either Norrington or yer dear Mr. Turner follow ye around."

She pulled her arm from his grasp, angry again. "How could you possibly say that about either Jim or William? You don't even know them!" Good lord, she was defending her ex…if that didn't speak to her stress level, nothing did.

The question seemed to give Hector pause. "Yer right," he finally grumbled. "Don't know 'em, but 'tis not the first time I've come across men of that ilk. And I know, sure as sunrise, that what ye be needin' ain't some lily-livered sop what does naught but yer biddin'."

"Really? You think you know what I need? Well, let me tell you …"

Beth stopped short. Yes, she did know what she needed and he likely did as well. She felt the flush burning up her neck and settling in her cheeks. She knew exactly why Hector was acting as he was.

"Yer gonna tell me, what?" His stubborn expression had faded, replaced by a look fiery enough that the warmth that had bloomed in her face began to slowly spread southward. Clearly, he'd missed neither the blush nor a guess as to the turn her thoughts had taken.

He slid a hand around her waist and slowly guided her in close. As she gazed up at him, it occurred to her once more that his eyes truly were startling, of a colour that went from light blue when he laughed to deep blue-green when his anger – or his passion – were aroused. And it would be so easy to lose herself in their dark depths now and relieve some of this agonizing tension. But no…not now. It wasn't the time. She needed to get into the water, needed to get the reclamation started. Needed to cool off.

"What I wanted to say," she sighed unevenly, allowing herself the indulgence of smoothing a hand over his magnificent chest, "was that you don't need to prove anything to Tony or anyone else. I already know who the better man is."

"Are ye tryin' to play me, girl?" he chuckled, the roughness of his voice belying the attempt at humour as he caught her hand in his and held it fast.

"Depends," she conceded coyly. "Is it working?"

"A dangerous game, to be sure, but I'll pander to ye fer now. I'll not let the likes of yer quartermaster get me riled again. Make no mistake, though, missy. I'll be demandin' fair trade in exchange for me kind understandin'."

"Agreed," she said, smiling at last. "Right now, however, I am going to get out of these clothes. You can go sit with Tony in the control room and he'll let you watch the dive through the remote control cameras."

Hector leered at her. "Are ye sure I can't be helpin' with the clothes instead? Might go faster if I lend ye a hand in disrobin'." He slid a finger beneath the strap of her swim suit, seemingly eager to demonstrate his skills in that area.

Beth laughed and pushed him away gently. "The disrobing might be faster, but I wonder how long it would take to find my way from the cabin to the wreck? Maybe later you can help me get out of my wet suit…"

"Sounds like a fine idea. Go on, then. Take yer walk, see what lies beneath the waves."

* * *

"Ye look as though yer expectin' grand things down there, 'Lizabeth," Hector said as she checked her equipment on deck and prepared for descent. "Wasn't every ship as carried Spanish gold and priceless gems; ye might be disheartened."  
Beth shook her head. "It's not important what she was carrying, Hector. It's about being about to reach down through the centuries and touch something of our past. That's the real payoff, not the financial gain."

"Them as sailed 'er might have had an opinion that differed," he answered, his lips quirking up in a grin.

"You could be right. Go on, now. Watch from the control room…and Hector?"

"Aye?"

"Play nice with the other boys, okay?" She adjusted her mask one last time, put the regulator in her mouth and flipped backwards off of the diving platform, not waiting for his response.

She sank beneath the waves, slowly righting herself as she bobbed in the current. The first and best thing about diving was the sound…actually, the lack of sound. Yes, she could hear air pumping and the bubbles as she blew out, but the lack of external noise filled her with peace. The tepid waters of the Gulf washed over her bare legs and arms, and she closed her eyes so that the feeling of it filled her senses. She was home.

When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Lance and Jen had taken up positions over the PVC grid, their flippered feet moving slowly back and forth as they waited for the boss. She gave them an okay sign and they moved into position, starting up the suctorials. The air and water suctorials – more or less submersible vacuums – would be the first step in the excavation. As they worked, the sludge would be carefully removed and artifacts exposed without damage.

Beth kicked closer, anxious to watch but not wanting to stir up any more silt than necessary. She knew that both Tony and Hector would be watching on the monitors and she didn't want to reduce their visibility. Besides that, the images might prove to be important for historical records or even for pitching future projects to potential investors.

For something that had been submerged for over 200 years, the ship was actually in pretty good shape. Although sea life had begun the gradual process of turning the wreck into something of a reef, it wasn't nearly as advanced as she'd have suspected. The keel was broken into pieces, of course, but many of the timbers were relatively intact despite the best efforts of the wood piddocks. Though terribly corroded, she could even spot pieces of what had once been brass emerging from the sediment.

She followed her divers, carefully pinning numbered plastic tabs beside each piece as it was revealed. With her pencil and plastic dive slate, she carefully recorded the item beside each number for future reference.

"Betsy…look up," came Tony's tinny voice over the com. "Lance has something you'll want to see."

When she raised her head, she saw Lance signalling to her to join them. When she swam over, she was in time to see the last of the sludge disappear from an old English cannon. The rope breaching was gone, of course, and the wood trunk carriage had disintegrated, but the barrel was intact. She'd have smiled if her lips weren't so tightly closed around her regulator…it was beautiful! Beth ran her fingers gently over it, plucking strands of seaweed away from the concretion-encased iron.

Cannons weren't exactly rare; the waters around Florida, Mexico and Texas were full of them. But one in such immaculate condition – now that was a find! She was anxious to get it back to the lab and start releasing the treasure from its stony prison.

She drew a happy face on her slate and she saw Lance's eyes crinkle in response. He held his hand up for an underwater high-five and she responded in turn. Beth had resumed recording details on her permatrace when she saw something dart out from under one of the beams.

She dropped down to take a closer look, but whatever it was had blended in perfectly with its surroundings and she couldn't find it again. Out of the corner of her eye, however, she saw another movement, and this time she stayed perfectly still until the creature had worked its way into her range of vision.

It was a Gulf ghost crab, its stone-coloured shell making it nearly impossible to spot until it began picking its way across the ocean floor. Beth's brow furrowed in confusion; she was no marine biologist but she understood that these creatures never wandered into deep water. They lived on the shoreline, emerging in the evenings to run into the surf for oxygen – that this one was 73 feet down was strange. It might have been inadvertently caught up in the tide, Beth supposed. Probably just an anomaly.

She likely would have shrugged it off without another thought but for the fact that there were now little scuttling movements all around her. Whirling, she watched wide-eyed as dozens of the tiny pale crabs, their beady black eyes waving on their stalks, converged on the wreck.

"Is there a problem?" asked Tony. "Bets, what are you doing?"

Why was he asking? How could he possibly miss the teeming wave of crustaceans moving over the site? Glancing over at Jen and Lance, she saw that they were continuing on with business as usual, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. Maybe her tank was low and she'd started hallucinating from lack of oxygen. She pulled the indicator around to take a look at it…no, it showed she had lots of air and was only half way through her 30 minute maximum dive time.

Beth wrote the word, "crabs" on her slate and held it up for the camera-bot for a few moments until the creatures drew her attention once more. They weren't moving in a random pattern; they were circling as a group near the stern, close to where the captain's cabin would have been.

"We can't see anything on the monitor," came Tony's voice again, this time in carefully measured tones. If the cameras weren't picking up anything, then the instruments on her equipment must be malfunctioning. Whether the vision was a symptom of a mechanical problem or not, it was time to start re-surfacing; at this depth, she had to go slowly and stop at least twice to avoid any issues with the bends. The need to get back to the boat was becoming urgent, though, as panic began to take hold.  
Tony had radioed Lance and Jen; they'd stopped what they were doing and were starting towards her, worry in their eyes. Beth waved them off, giving them the thumbs- up indication that she was going back to the _Penzance_.

She kicked a couple of times, but when she looked back at the debris field, the crabs had morphed into a formation reminiscent of a whirlpool. It was completely mesmerizing and she stopped, unable to take her eyes from the sight.

Suddenly the crabs began to dig into the sand en masse, disappearing into the ocean floor. She could still see movement from beneath and then something shiny in the sand caught the light from the flood beams set up all around the site. Forgetting her earlier alarm, Beth descended again towards the spot where the crabs had vanished.

She waved over at Lance, trying to get him to bring the suctorial over. When he hesitated, Beth swam over and impatiently grabbed the hose from his hands so she could do it herself.

"Elizabeth Swann!" yelled Tony into her earpiece, trying to get her attention. She knew she was in trouble when he bothered to use her proper name instead of his own nickname for her, but it didn't slow her down. There was something there…something wonderful.

As she began to clear away the silt, both Jennifer and Lance approached, enticed by what she was doing. The both of them sank down beside her and excitedly swept the sand away by hand, trying to uncover whatever was concealed beneath the muck. Beth found the edge of the item…it was black, elaborately carved and stretched out about nine feet in a single direction. She followed the edge around and found another, shorter edge. It was thick and rectangular…and most remarkably of all, in one clean, unbroken piece.

Jen stopped what she was doing and Lance froze at almost the exact time. They both looked up at Beth, excitement clear on their faces. The three of them looked down again at the same time and saw themselves reflected back from the surface of perfect, unblemished mirror.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Over here! Just bring it along…careful! Don't drop it!" 'Lizbeth was shrill with excitement, a fact which did little to improve Hector's mood.

Bad enough that he'd had to tolerate and try to ignore witless remarks from Newson as they'd watched the dive in the cramped control room. Harder on him still when he'd seen the ghostly shapes marking the remnants of his beloved _Pearl_, decayed from the relentless effects of time and tide. And downright chilling to see the goddess's phantom familiars crawling about the site, and him knowing that only he and Elizabeth were privy to their presence.

Paying the price, he was, for his dealings with otherworldly creatures – and not likely a thing he could do to stop the intrigues now that the goddess had seen fit to set yet another scheme in motion. There was no understanding what was happening, but it would be a fair bet to say that it didn't bode well for any of them.

Fighting a man, that was one thing, and certain he was that he could cut down any mortal foe as threatened his lady. Fighting the supernatural, though...well, the odds weren't exactly weighed in his favour there. The entire situation was growing ever more complex and the chances of battling successfully against such were maddeningly small.

Had it been his choice, they'd have left the mirror (and the rest of it, truth be told) to lie forever on the sea bottom; it was a portent of doom if ever one existed. Elizabeth had, of course, insisted upon recovering it immediately; given the way in which Calypso had revealed it to her, what other course would she have taken?

So the mirror had been brought aboard the _Penzance_, and now to the warehouse on the decommissioned naval air station on Trumbo Point where the girl's crew worked on the odds and ends she'd pulled from the sea. Not that there was much work to be done in her lab, at least not with the mirror – looking as if though it had just been crafted, its quicksilver had sparkled in the late evening light as they had eased it from the ocean and onto the mine sweeper.

Hector grunted and strained, the muscles of his arms quivering beneath the weight of the accursed relic; there were twelve of them attempting to carry it and still he felt as though bits of his anatomy might never recover from the sheer heft of the thing.

A thing that had never been aboard the _Pearl_, that much was certain. Damn and double damn Calypso for it all!

"We're almost there…lay it flat on that long table. That's it!" No sooner had they set it down than the lights in the specialized room were dimmed against any potential damage. Elizabeth pushed Hector aside, her hands nearly aflutter with anticipation as she yanked aside the canvas covering the atrocity. "My God, it's extraordinary. I've never seen a reference in any of the journals to something like this," she exclaimed, her face shining. "Just look at the carvings!"

Barbossa winced and massaged his shoulder as he stepped in closer once more. He'd been trying too hard not to drop the mirror to pay much attention to the details, but what he was able to see now in the dim orange light only added to his dread.

The work was resplendently detailed, right from the rendering of an angel holding aloft a dove taking flight, to the group of skeletal figures cowering beneath a pitted moon. One bottom corner showed dark tentacles wrapped around the hull of a ship while at the top right hand corner, another ship of Oriental origin teetered on the edge of an endless waterfall. There was more but he didn't need to see it. He'd lived it. Hector turned away for a moment, distressed at the display.

"Betsy, don't drop your bundle here," warned Tony. "I'm almost dead cert that it's a fake. It can't have been in the water more than a few days. There's no cracking, no warping, and the reflective surface is completely untarnished. It's got to be contemporary, there's nothing else for it."

"It was underneath the debris," Eizabeth replied, sounding more than a little put out that he was killing her joy. "You explain to me how it would have gotten there, especially since we've been at the wreck site for more than two weeks now."

"I can't explain it, any more than I can explain you being the only one to see a sudden stampede of treasure-seeking, excavating crabs. But when you get the science back on it, you'll see I was right. All I'm saying is that we pulled a lot of legitimate stuff that we need to get a start on." Tony crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, giving her a very disapproving look.

Elizabeth sighed her disappointment. "I know, I know. Okay, people. We'll leave this as it is for now. Let's get the cannon and some of the other stuff into the baths." The group around her began to make their way back to the dock but she paused once more beside the table and Barbossa stopped to wait, anxious as he was to see her away from the terrible object.

As she looked down almost lovingly upon it, her dark eyes seemed to shine in the faint amber light. Her fingers caressed the reliefs, her dainty touch lingering over each groove and bump she examined. The paleness of her skin cut a stark contrast against the darkness of the frame as her hand dragged down the scenes depicted there, exploring a history that had once belonged to her as much as to him.

Her mouth parted slightly and as she continued to stroke the black border, Hector's focus sharpened upon her so much so that he nearly forgot the sense of foreboding that had settled upon him. He watched her hands glide along the ridges and he felt himself stiffening, barely able to stifle a groan as he imagined himself being laid bare on the table before her and in receipt of such wondrous attentions.

He gave his head a shake, trying to purge such thoughts altogether. For too long had his lusts overruled his good judgement. With all that be going on around them, he could ill afford the distraction. How was he to keep her safe if he thought of naught but the sweet roundness of her ass, the hollow of her throat that cried out to be tasted, the slight swell of her breasts against her shirt that begged for his touch?

Hector turned his back on the sight, stepping over to look out the door of the warehouse. The twilight blue of the sky had begun to darken the waters near the wharf and the first starlight had begun to dance upon the waves, but the view brought no serenity to his soul. He was on edge and heartsick, waiting for Elizabeth's enemies to make a move…waiting to see where the sea goddess was leading them…or waiting for Elizabeth to do the same. He wasn't sure which of the three was worse.

Hard to believe that less than a week's worth of days had passed since he'd dragged her from the water and brought her back from the brink. Their sense of history was shorter on her side, yet sometimes he could swear that he saw some shadow of recollection cross her face when she looked at him.

What would happen if she did truly regain the memories of her past self? When they'd last seen one another - so long ago on the deck of the _Pearl_ - Elizabeth had given him an ineffable smile that had left him wondering if it was really young Mr. Turner that she'd wanted upon that honeymoon island of hers.

Perhaps she would remember that moment, too, and this time 'round she'd think of him as a man and not a monster.

Or it might be that the abomination he'd been during those dark days under the curse would forever taint how she looked upon him.

Weary he had grown waiting for others to decide his fate; sick to death he was of drifting rudderless on a sea of uncertainty. He might not know his destiny but he knew his heart's desire, and he'd wait no longer to discover what it meant to call Elizabeth Swann his own...even if he could only do so until she learned the truth.

Hector pushed away from the door frame and stalked back to where she was still fussing over the infernal mirror. "We must go, 'Lizabeth," he stated bluntly, startling her from her engrossed study.

"Go?" she said, stunned. "I can't leave. I've got to help with the artifacts. I can't just expect the others…"

He stopped any further talk with a rough kiss, taking the very breath from her as he silenced her protests with bruising lips and tongue. Oh, but it was sweet to taste her, to take what he wanted and drive her to distraction while he had his pleasure. When he drew away, she gasped for air, wide-eyed in surprise and with a mouth swollen from being used with such abandon.

"They don't need ye, girl. Not as I do," he pushed, impatient for her consent.

"But…"

Hector grasped her tightly by her upper arms, pulling her closer. He had to get her away from this place and these things. Being among them scattered his thoughts and grated upon his nerves. "I'll give ye time to make yer excuses to yer crew, but I'll not be put off in this."

Now that she was no longer touching the mirror, its spell seemed finally broken. Her clear brown eyes sought his and whatever she read there was enough to convince her of strength of his resolve. "Okay, I'll go talk to Tony and let him know," she agreed quietly. Her little hands drifted up and eased over the broad expanse of his chest, and his heart tripped over itself at the caress. "Will we get back before they return to the site tonight?"

"Nay," he retorted. "Best they go on without ye. I'll have ye back to the wreck not long after sunrise, though. Ye have me word."

Wisteria was in plain sight from the dock and it would have been a quick trip by powerboat, but Hector wasn't ready to take Elizabeth there quite yet. Tonight it wouldn't do to rush. As they left the warehouse, he captured her hand in his, marvelling at the bolt of sensation that shot up his arm with such simple contact. He knew from her sudden intake of breath that she felt it, too, and he tightened his grasp ever so slightly to show her that she was not alone in it.

The day had been hot and the temperature hadn't dropped much, so the night was made for a walk. They strolled away from the wharf and south along Trumbo Road, the noise from the resorts and marinas on the north beach of the city ringing like echoes of Tortuga in his ears. Wordlessly he led her not in the direction of the crowds of tourists and drunken students, but instead east towards another non-descript warehouse on Chevalier Avenue, the street lamps painting a pathway of pinkish-orange stepping stones upon the sidewalk to guide them.

"Are ye ready to see me pride and joy?" he queried. He'd stopped at a set of tall articulated steel doors and though he tried to seem nonchalant, he was keen to show her what awaited on the other side.

Elizabeth glanced down at his groin and then back up again, trying vainly to bite back a giggle. "Your pride and joy? Is that what you call it?"

Hector rolled his eyes at her before he turned his attention back to the door. "Women. 'Tis always the same with ye," he said, shaking his head. "First thing that comes to yer mind is a man's wedding tackle."

His response had her erupting in peals of laughter. Although he tried to give her a stern look, he had to struggle mightily not to smile in return. "If yer gonna mock me," he warned with an injured tone, "Perhaps I'll be savin' what's behind the door fer someone else."

"No…no, I'm sorry," Elizabeth choked out, trying to rein in her levity. "It's just that I've never heard anyone refer to his…assets…in those terms before."

His expression remained dour and she at last attempted to look contrite, 'though still fighting to keep the smile at bay.

"I apologize if I hurt your feelings," she went on, her face very nearly straight by that point. "May I please see what's behind the door?"

Hector snorted indignantly and took the padlock into his hands. He took his time, pretending to fumble with the keys long enough that she began making sounds of impatience. Good, he thought, feeling better that she was now showing some eagerness. About time that she learned what torture it was to have to wait for something in anxious anticipation.

Deciding that he'd made her pay the price for her derision, he finally unchained the door. It slid up with a metallic rumble and he reached in to flick on the lights that would reveal his grand surprise.

"Oh. It's your motorcycle." Elizabeth said.

"Nay," he answered, insulted. "She's me _bike_."

"Oh, right. Sorry. Your bike." She looked at him, her eyes widening in the sudden understanding that he was sharing something special with her. "I didn't mean to belittle it – the bike really is wonderful, Hector. Would it be all right if I touch it?"

"Ye may touch all ye like," he smiled broadly, pleased at last that she was showing the old beauty some appreciation, if only for his sake, "but I was thinkin' ye may prefer a ride instead."

"Oh, I don't know," she said as she approached his 1969 Harley Davidson FLF pan shovel and stroked the well-worn leather seats, the cream-coloured enamel panels and the polished chrome rims. "I've never ridden before," she confided, her voice betraying her growing interest. She began to caress the bike as she had the mirror, the idea the ride clearly appealing to her the more thought she gave it. "What do I need to know?"

"Well, first thing ye must know is that ye've not the right attire." Adorable she might look in her blouse, shorts and deck shoes, but it would not do for the open road. "Check yonder locker; Ragetti should have extra gear that'll suit ye. Ye'll need boots, breeches and a warmer shirt. I'll see to fuelling up while ye dress yerself…ye can step behind the locker if ye wish."

She smiled and he knew she was convinced. "I believe," she answered, her tone teasing as she swung open the locker, "that the time for modesty between us may have already passed."

"Then do as ye wish," he chuckled, taking a gas can in hand and opening the back door of the warehouse to where the tanks were stored, "but ye'll not say I wasn't a gentleman about it."

By the time Barbossa had completed his task, Elizabeth had donned what garb she could find that would offer some protection from the wind. He tried not to smile at the ill-fitted leather pants, the oversized boots or the t-shirt that came down to mid-thigh, but he wasn't completely successful in hiding his amusement.

"I did the best I could," she sniffed, her hands going to her hips, hitching up the waistband that threatened to slip downwards. "Had I known of your plans, I could have brought something from my own closet."

"Don't be cross, now," he chided her, the smirk he wore still not completely banished. "Me only thought be that yer ensemble's not yet complete."

Her moods seemed tied to a pendulum, he mused – it was easy enough for her to laugh when he was the subject of the joke, but not so when she was being sent up. He walked over, gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead to sooth her irritation, and then continued on to a large metal wardrobe beside the locker. Opening the heavy door, he pulled down a small, thin box first off and tossed it over to her.

"Ye'll need gloves; if yer fingers get cold, holding tight will prove a challenge." He watched as she tugged them on, bending and straightening her fingers to get the right fit. Then he pulled a much larger box down from one of the shelves and closed the door.

Hector weighed the heaviness of it in his hands, pausing long enough to invite her curiosity. "What's that?" she asked, picking at the side of the box and trying to get a peek.

He twisted away from her, scowling in false anger as he moved the package out of her reach. "Not sure as I'm ready to be givin' this to ye. 'Tis a gift of great import."

"Really?" she asked, her eyebrow quirking up, a look of mischief upon her face. "And what must I do to convince you that I'm worthy of such a gift?"

"Ye must swear loyalty to yer captain, forsaking the claims of all others who have come before or who might unwisely attempt to follow," he advised her, trying to sound glib. It didn't feel so much like a game anymore, not once those words had left his lips.

Elizabeth sighed at his dramatics. "Yes, okay, I swear. Now give me my present."

Hector tilted his chin, looking down at her disdainfully. "I don't believe ye."

It was Elizabeth's turn to attempt to hide a playful grin. "You're right. I did not do my oath justice." She sauntered up beside him, swaying her hips as she came. Draping her arm on top of his shoulder for leverage, she raised herself higher, sweeping away locks of hair from his ear with her free hand. "I hereby pledge my loyalty to you and no other, and swear that from this point forward, you are the captain of my heart."

Her warm breath upon his neck sent a shiver through his body. Hector found the last phrase absurdly touching, even if he knew she'd only said it in jest. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Ye've earned yer prize."

Eyes sparkling, she grabbed the box from his hands and tore it open. When she saw the leather vest with the 'Blackhearts Motorcycle Club' patch, though, her smile was a little less certain than it had been. "Hector, it's not that I don't appreciate it…and I'll definitely wear it for our ride…but I don't know that I'm really 'biker mama' material."

Barbossa shook his head. "Ye don't understand, 'Lizabeth. That vest don't mark ye as property – only those who be full members can wear the colours. There's not a woman before ye as has ever been given that honour by our crew. And aye, this Blackhearts cut will keep ye warm, but more than that it will keep ye safe. Those who are out to harm ye might reconsider if they know that there be two dozen others who call ye 'sister' and will fight to the death fer ye. Ain't fer naught that we be feared throughout these parts, on land and on water."

"Yes, of course. Thank you, then. Do you believe that in the excitement of the day, I'd almost forgotten about the attack?" Elizabeth smiled sadly, her enthusiasm for their outing faded. Slowly she slipped her arms through the newly bestowed cut, a sign of full membership in one of the most notorious outlaw motorcycle clubs known. As she pulled her hair out from underneath the collar so that it hung in a golden brown mantle down her back, she kept her eyes on the ground, suddenly reluctant to meet his gaze. "Being with you, it just didn't feel like I was still in danger. You must think me completely oblivious."

Hector's spirits plummeted. He'd not meant to be so brusque with her, and now he'd gone and marred a promising night. Gathering her into his arms, he whispered against her temple. "Damnation, girl! I don't want ye to think on it. That's why we're there – so's ye can do yer work and not have to watch o'er yer shoulder. 'Tis our job to keep ye safe; this be just one more way of makin' sure ye stay so."

Her arms came up around him, hugging him tightly as she buried her face against his chest. The faint flowery scent from her hair drifted around him and he rested his cheek against her silken tresses, basking in the tenderness of her embrace. Hector felt a hitch in her breathing and wondered if she wasn't fightin' tears, ashamed to show him that her fear had gotten the better of her. Clumsy he was in dealing with women at times, proof that too many years had passed since he'd cared enough to try.

What he needed, perhaps, was a change in tactic or she might yet end up sobbing in his arms. "Be ye ready to sport our Blackhearts patch as a full member, or do ye plan to cling to me all night like some milquetoast hangaround?"

Elizabeth huffed and pushed away from him, giving her face a quick wipe with her hand. "Excuse me! _Milquetoast?_ Give me my orders, Captain, and I'll be pleased to demonstrate how quick a study I can be." She straightened her outfit and pointed her chin outwards rebelliously, her eyes rimmed in red but her expression determined.

That's me girl, he thought. "Fine. Come closer and I'll show ye what to do."

Elizabeth stepped towards him once more and he turned her around so he was at her back. He'd give her a lesson she'd not soon forget, one that would have her thinking on what else he might be able to teach.

"First rule," he said, bending at his knees so he could slowly slide his hands up her beautiful flanks, the muscles in her thighs twitching and tightening as he went. He stopped just short of her waist, running a finger around the band of the loose pants as he straightened up. "Ye must keep yer hands on me hips at all times. 'Tis a powerful bike and t'would be easy to leave ye behind at the lights if ye let go. Understand?"

"Oh yes," she replied, lifting her hands to cover his for a moment until he gently drew them away again.

"Second," he murmured as he let his fingers trail leisurely up her bare arms, "Don't be grabbing at me shoulders or arms. Ye do that and we'll end up scraping ourselves raw on the pavement when we fall." Goosebumps arose on her flesh and she trembled as his hands slipped beneath each sleeve, lightly kneading her shoulders. Hector smiled – he did enjoy this kind of schooling.

"Third – ye must lean into the turns with me," he whispered as he brushed against her ear with his lips, pulling her tightly against his body and wrapping his arms around her. "Keep yer eye just o'er me shoulder and move as I move. Ye'll be inclined to try and fight the turn, but if ye do, ye might just take the bike down and both of us along with it. Do ye have all that?"

She nodded once more, crossing her arms over top of his as her breathing went shallow. Aye, his hope for the evening had been restored. "Hold your hips, don't grab your arms and shoulders, and lean with you going around a curve. Got it," she answered, her voice quavering.

He led her over to the Harley, pointing to the rear chassis before he went down on one knee before her. "These here be passenger pegs," he said as he stared up at her, watching her breasts rise and fall beneath the baggy white t-shirt. His own voice went husky with need as he lifted her leg, rubbing her calf adoringly before he placed her foot on the metal dowel. "Ye'll use them to mount the bike, and yer to keep yer feet on them during the ride, even when we're stopped. Don't be resting yer legs against the exhaust – it'll burn yer skin clean off, leather or not."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shuddered. "I'll remember."

"Last of all," he finished, standing and drawing her in so that she was flush against him and well able to feel the ardent evidence of his desire, "Ye must stay relaxed. Difficult will it be for me to manoeuvre if ye remain…rigid against me." He slid his hand down along her thigh, lifting it slightly so he could tuck in closer to that wonderful warmth between her legs. "Have ye any questions?"

She swallowed hard as she looked up at him, her eyelids at half mast with her own longing. "What about a helmet?" she asked softly. "Isn't that pretty much a basic?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Truth be told, missy, we haven't any. Has been my experience that should ye get in a mishap serious enough to need one, it'll do naught but keep yer head in one piece when it flies from yer shoulders. Makes it easier to track down afterwards, I suppose."

Elizabeth looked startled at the thought and he couldn't help but laugh, breaking the tension. Enough playing for now or they'd not make it out of the warehouse at all, and he desperately wanted her legs wrapped around him as they took to the road. "Don't ye worry. I've never yet lost control – at least not while I was astride me Harley. Ye'll have to trust that I'll give ye a smooth ride."

"Are we still talking about the bike?" she bantered back.

"Perhaps," he replied, arching an eyebrow at her. "Either way, the time fer talkin' is done." He released her and mounted his bike, carefully easing himself into a comfortable position – or as comfortable as he could get in tight jeans and in his current condition. He grabbed hold of the handlebars, flexing his fingers to find the right grip, and gave her a look he filled full of promise. "Climb aboard, 'Lizabeth. Let's ride."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Growing up, Beth had lived a very conservative life. Oh, she'd certainly orchestrated enough petty rebellions through her teens to contribute to her late father's prematurely grey hair, but for the most part she had remained on the straight and narrow. She'd received a respectable education, had married and divorced a perfectly respectable man and ran a respectable business. With one or two sad exceptions, her life had remained safe, stable and well-ordered. She'd likely have been perfectly content to continue on that path had she not met Hector Barbossa.

There was nothing even vaguely respectable about hurtling northeast on the Overseas Highway, decked out in black leather as she wove through traffic on the back of a rumbling Harley Davidson and contemplated acts of a shockingly lascivious nature with the leader of an outlaw biker club…her outlaw biker club, she amended. It should concern her, Beth thought, that she was placing her reputation in jeopardy, but there wasn't anything that mattered to her less at the moment.

Never had Elizabeth Swann – studious, accepting and yes, if she dared to admit it, prissy – felt more powerful, more exhilarated, more herself than she did now. It was as if by straddling the bike and trusting her life to fate, she had released a piece of her soul. Her spirit was giddy with the newfound freedom.

She finally understood that this was the gift that Hector had really wanted to give her when he spirited her away from the lab. It wasn't about a ride on a motorcycle. It was about making her feel deeply, drawing her out of herself and giving her permission to be who she was meant to be. More and more, it seemed as if he knew her in ways that she barely knew herself.

Hector interrupted her thoughts when he revved up again, accelerating past another group of cars and sending a sudden buzz of cold adrenaline through her veins. He laughed with pure abandon and Beth's heart leapt in her chest as she grasped his hips more firmly, tightening her legs around his to keep steady.

When she was certain that they were on a straight-away and there were no vehicles or corners ahead to worry about, Beth closed her eyes and lifted her face to the wind, smiling against the softly buffeting assault of the night air. It felt like flight, or as close to it as she thought she'd ever get. If she didn't know that it would be inherently dangerous, she'd have spread her arms like wings and let the air rush over her bare skin.

The fragrant scent of the ocean blew around her and she let it fill her lungs. Hector slowed again and she opened her eyes to see that they'd come up on another group of cars. When she lowered her face, Hector's hair flickered over her cheeks and tickled her neck. Smiling, she smoothed the wisps away, letting her fingers linger for a moment as the full softness of his locks flowed around her hand. He reached down and ran his long fingers across her thigh, sending a swell of arousal through her with his brief touch. Never had she felt so intensely – her every nerve was close to the surface, ready for the next overwhelming sensation.

Hector flicked on his signal when they came to a sign for the exit to Bahia Honda Beach and they glided around the off ramp down towards the Gulf side of the island. The palm fronds swayed above and backlit by the moonlight, they threw harsh shadows across the road in front of the bike. Hector slowed as he approached the nearly-deserted parking lot and Beth steadied herself against the foot pegs so she wouldn't slide into him as he stopped.

Although there were a few stragglers, most of the tourist crowd had cleared out to hotels and campsites. When he finally cut the ignition, the quiet was almost startling in its intensity. Only the break of waves against the nearby shore broke the silence.

"How'd ye fare, 'Lizabeth?" Hector asked, twisting around in his seat with a devilish grin. "Did the ride satisfy?"

Still swept up in a tide of elation, Beth captured his face between her hands and leaned over to kiss him deeply before just as suddenly releasing him. She laughed at the surprise on his face – it was so good to give into impulse. "I've never felt anything like that before! I feel…it was terrifying and thrilling and…" She struggled to put the experience into words, but he smiled and nodded his understanding.

"No need to explain. There be only two other things as can lift me heart in the same way. One is bein' at the helm of a ship, fightin' whate'er the sea dares throw me way. The other…," he continued, his eyes glinting and his grin growing even more sinful, "Well, perhaps ye'll become privy to that after we've done with our ride. Fer now, though, get off me bike."

She grunted and placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning against him as she swung one leg over her seat and onto the concrete. "You, Hector Barbossa, are a tease."

He chuckled knowingly as he put down the kickstand and dismounted as well. "Mistaken, I was, to say 'perhaps'. Didn't intend to mislead ye." He took her hand and pulled her along as he turned towards the beach. She gave only token resistance before following.

The sky was absolutely clear and the silhouette of the old rail bridge loomed darkly in the distance. At Beth's insistence, they stopped at a picnic table and abandoned their heavy boots in favour of walking barefoot along the sandy strip.

They strolled along in silence and Beth chose the side with the surf. The warm waves conspired to tickle her toes, retreating as she kicked at the foam-tipped water only to return and erase her footprints behind her. She smiled and bit her lip, relishing the way Hector's fingers so naturally slipped in between hers.

The wind ruffled her hair and she stared out to sea, watching as the lights of distant ships melded with the diamond-studded sky and sailboats bobbed on the water, their lanterns looking like strands of precious jewels. How she would have loved to have lived in the era of the tall ships…to watch as well-armed frigates sailed off to do battle and merchant galleys brought spices and fine silks into harbour.

Beth knew enough to understand that she was romanticizing the time – life had been difficult and very uncertain for all but a privileged few – but it was a world that had held so much possibility, so much adventure. The closest she could come now was to retrieve objects from that distant past and wonder at their histories.

She glanced over at Hector and saw that he was lost to his own contemplations. Right now, maybe he could be her possibility, her adventure. Perhaps the time period wasn't important, not really. There was nowhere she wanted to be more than walking beneath the moon with this man.

They'd gone about a quarter mile when she tugged him to a stop and lured him over to a castaway boulder half buried in the beach. She dropped down to sit on the sand and leaned back against the rock, pulling him down beside her to do the same.

"Is this where you bring all your conquests? Perhaps you regularly set your ladies to swooning with a romantic stroll on a moonlit beach before taking unscrupulous advantage of their compromised state of mind," Beth cajoled, resting a hand against his thigh and thoroughly enjoying the solid feel of his leg.

Hector scanned the night sky, his mouth drawing down into a frown. "Needed a place fer ye to take a rest from the ride, is all; I'm not what ye'd call partial to moonlight. As fer setting ye to swooning…" he shook off his brief melancholy enough to give her devious look, "…I've no need to worry over such."

He bent and nuzzled at her neck, sending cool shivers across her skin. Beth closed her eyes and let her head fall to the side, willingly submitting to his affections. "You believe the outcome of this night is so certain that you needn't even try, is that what you're saying?" she challenged, spreading a gloved hand on his shoulder and holding onto him tightly.

Hector hesitated for a moment before resuming his exploration. He found her ear and bit at it gently, his hot breath there causing her nipples to harden against the soft fabric of her borrowed shirt. "I know ye need me, girl. Yer limbs are trembling now and I've hardly touched ye. Yer breath catches in yer throat and yer pulse flutters beneath me lips and I've done naught but hold yer hand. So ye can play coy if ye like but we both know I'll not be denied tonight."

Beth moaned, his words igniting a surge of heat between her legs. "So what now, my Captain? Do you intend to take me up against this rock? On a picnic table? Or maybe over the seat of your bike?"

He laughed softly and pulled back to gaze into her eyes. "Perhaps another time, lass, 'though the thought of havin' ye spread-eagled on the Harley certainly appeals. But that's not for tonight. Nay, we must return the bike to the warehouse and then we're off to Wisteria. I'm of a mind to lay claim to ye upon me ship."

* * *

The journey back to Key West seemed to take forever, her heady anticipation taking some of the thrill from the ride. Beth sighed with relief when Hector finally turned back into town and found the quickest route to Chevalier.

The crew's power boats had all been docked back at Wisteria and so they were left to rent a water taxi instead. The driver didn't look all that happy about making a trip out to the Blackheart's island home, but quickly overcame his reservations when Hector pulled a bundle of cash from his pocket and waived several fifties in his face.

The boat tripped across the waves and Hector kept his arm around her to stave off any chill. She leaned into him and smiled, warm and happy as they quickly crossed the brief distance. As they approached the landing dock, however, she felt his body suddenly tense against hers.

"What's wrong?" she asked, following his uneasy gaze towards the island.

"Someone is aboard the _Corazón Perdido_. There be lights in the cabin and a shadow movin' about."

Beth shrugged as their driver slowly drew up to the dock. "Probably just one of your men."

Hector shook his head, his eyes grown cold. "The first one as tried knows he'd be floating face down beside her when I found out. Unless the ship's afire, ain't a member of my crew as would dare step a foot on her deck without me leave."

He jumped up onto the pier as the taxi pulled in close, turning to lean on one knee and looking back down at her. "I want ye to stay here on the boat, 'Lizabeth," he warned as he tugged up his pant leg and drew a broad-bladed dagger from his boot.

"No!" she and the driver cried out at the same time, and both she and Hector looked in surprise at the man.

"You just paid me to bring you out. I'm not getting caught up in whatever gang bullshit you're involved in here," he informed them, the timbre of his voice rising with the level of his anxiety. "Get off, lady!"

"Yer a bleedin' coward," Hector scowled at him, reaching down to help Beth up out of the craft. No sooner had she found her footing beside him than the driver revved his engine, whipped the tail of his boat around and shot off back towards Key West.

"I wouldn't have stayed behind anyway. I'm not letting you go off by yourself to face some intruder," she told him as they watched the taxi lights grow ever smaller. She was fairly confident that there wasn't anyone more capable of looking after himself and it was likely she'd only be in the way as Hector went to investigate; so much could go wrong, though, and if something did she'd never forgive herself for not being there for him the way he'd been for her.

His expression softened for a moment and he cupped her cheek in his hand. "Had no intention of goin' it alone, lass. But I suppose 'tis easier fer me to be keepin' an eye upon ye if yer close. Just promise me ye'll stay back and out of harm's way." Beth nodded, holding his hand in place with hers and turning her face to kiss his palm in response.

The island was quiet as they walked slowly towards the long pier where the ketch was tied. From the few lights left on, Beth assumed that most of the other men had either retired for the night or were off somewhere else pursuing their own pleasures.

She and Hector were passing by an outboard cruiser from which faint laughter and talking could be heard, and Hector stopped to smack against the hull with the flat of his hand. The conversation halted and a single voice cried out, "Aye? Who be there and what the blazes do ye want?"

"'Tis yer captain, ye feckless dogs. I've unexpected company aboard me ship and I find meself in need of a greeting party."

There was some rustling before a pair of men dropped over the side of the craft, their casual outfits of t-shirts and boxers in contrast to the seriousness of the weapons they carried. Each had what looked to Beth to be an automatic pistol in one hand and a short sword in the other. Their faces were grim and their stances ready. "What be yer orders, sir?" said the closest, his pale blonde hair aglow in the light of the moon.

"Mister Morris, ye scout ahead, see if there's others hangin' about. Ye find someone, dispatch 'em quick but be quiet about it. Mister Rackam," he went on, speaking now to the smaller, squatter crew member, "Ye lay aft and make certain no one catches us unaware."

"Aye, Cap'n," they answered in unison, both with unsavoury gleams in their eyes that gave Beth pause. Morris slid along the shadows of the other docked craft, disappearing gradually into the gloom. When she turned around, Rackam was nowhere to be seen but she could sense his presence somewhere behind them. She didn't doubt now that she and Hector would be safe, but she was equally convinced that she couldn't say the same about whoever had made a most unwelcome landing on Wisteria Island.

Hector halted several yards away from the gangway and asked her to remove her boots. Though he seemed able to move soundlessly in his, the same could not be said of Beth and they didn't want the visitors scared off before he had a chance to confront them. Morris reappeared beside them like a wraith, startling Beth with the suddenness of his presence as she undid her buckles.

"Didn't find anyone else, sir," he muttered, sounding nothing if not disappointed. "So far as I can tell through the port holes, there be only one interloper aboard yer ship. Couldn't get a good look, though."

"Come along then, gents," Hector said, beckoning to Rackam to join them as the other man rematerialized from the darkness as well. "Let's see who's decided to call upon me this fine evening."

They carefully crept aboard, Morris walking on ahead of them and Rackam following up behind. Hector pointed Morris towards the sunroof over the deckhouse and signalled for him to gain access to the ship from there. He took the pistol from Rackam and handed the deadly-looking knife over to Beth before he made his way down the stairs. It was heavy in her hands and she doubted her ability to handle it properly, but holding it at least gave her some sense of security.

Her pulse racing and the polished wood of the steps cold on her bare feet, she tentatively followed Hector as he descended. When the room came into view, he stopped and straightened unexpectedly, and she had to take care so as to avoid running him through with his own blade. He took a deep breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Marilyn," he said in a low, flat voice, "what do ye think yer doin'?"

Beth stepped down beside him just in time to see the crew's doctor, dressed in a prim flannel nightgown, jump nearly out of her skin at the unexpected interruption. As Marilyn whirled around, her long grey hair flew around her face, and her expression betrayed fear and guilt. Beth caught sight of navigational charts spread on the table behind the older woman.

Marilyn looked for a moment like she might try to bolt, but Morris moved in from behind her and she had no option but to face them. "Captain…sir…I didn't expect…I was just…I had trouble sleeping tonight, I thought perhaps I would borrow one of your books…" Her eyes were wild as she sought to explain, her hand nervously fluttering over her chest.

Hector stepped down the rest of the way into the cabin, a move that prompted Marilyn to scoot quickly backwards until the edge of the table stopped her retreat. "After all these many years," he went on, his lip curled in menace, "ye dare stand before me and lie to me face as if I hadn't a bit of sense in me head?"

Beth came from behind him, touching his arm to get his attention. "Hector, you're scaring her! She didn't mean any harm…"

He looked back at Beth grimly, firmly removing her hand before he continued stalking the doctor. The woman skirted the table until she'd put it between them. "What is it ye be seeking here, Doc? Fer what end and purpose have ye breeched me trust? Must be somethin' of considerable value fer ye to risk me fury."

"I…I told you, Captain. I only wanted a book – I didn't think you'd mind…" Marilyn whined, glancing fearfully at the crew members that were hemming her in.

"This is ridiculous. Let's just sit down and talk," Beth tried to calm him but he was having none of it.

"And which engaging novel was it that ye chose to peruse this evenin', hmm? Or perhaps in the end ye figured that ye'd be more entertained with reading me charts and notin' our location fer future reference?"

"Why would I care about the charts?" Marilyn feigned disinterest, but her eyes darted down the table and back again to her captain's face. "It's nothing to me where you choose to spend your time."

"Enough!" he roared, his face twisting with rage as he slammed a fist down on the table in front of the trembling woman, causing her to jump yet again. He picked up the chart that lay on top of the others, shaking it in her face. "Ye think that just because yer a woman, I'd not exact the same penalties upon ye as I would a man fer such a trespass? I'll not abide yer lies a moment longer…ye'll tell me the truth of it now or I swear ye'll not see another sunrise!"

"Please, sir, I can explain!" Marilyn cried, holding out a hand in an attempt to keep him at bay. "It's only an old wreck, and they promised me that you and the men would not be harmed. I never would have agreed to help them if I thought there was any chance you'd be hurt. You have to believe me!"

"Who is it as convinced ye to conspire against us?!" Hector demanded, stepping around the table until he was only inches away from her. She looked up at him beseechingly and tried to lay a hand on his chest, but he angrily pushed it aside.

"It wasn't like that! I never plotted against you or the crew…" she said, furtively glaring at Beth.

Beth's mouth gaped in shock. There had never been any indication that the doctor thought of her with anything but kindness during her recovery. "Me? Why would you…"

Hector held up a hand, halting her question before she could get it all out. A terrible calm set over his face, somehow worse than the rage. He looked down at Marilyn, his voice scarcely more than a rough whisper. "What have ye done, woman?"

Before Marilyn could even speak, it hit Beth what was really going on with her. This was about jealousy, not subterfuge. The look she gave him spoke volumes. Age difference or not, this woman loved Hector. Loved him enough that she wanted dead the one person she saw as a threat. And loved him with enough desperation that she'd risk all their lives on the chance that she could win his heart.

Beth wondered what exactly had passed between the two. Surely if they had been together, it had to have been years earlier when Hector was a much younger man. Well, that was then and this was now, she thought, wisps of possessiveness curling in her stomach.

"She should never have come back," wailed Marilyn, her contempt for Beth as clear as the tears streaming from her eyes. "All these years you've carried her memory in your heart and she never even loved you. A pretty face has blinded you, Captain, has made you weak. She will only bring pain…to you, to all of us. She doesn't belong here."

All what years? What on earth was she on about? Beth frowned, musing it over and feeling vaguely as if she'd come into the middle of a conversation.

"Turn 'round, 'Lizabeth," Hector said coolly, his pitiless eyes staying pinned on the woman in front of him.

"Why? What are you going to do?" she answered quietly, suddenly afraid of the violence she sensed seething beneath the surface. How far was he going to take his threats of reprisal?

"Just lis'en fer a change!" he hollered and she complied without further argument. Beth flinched as she heard Marilyn cry out in distress.

Hector continued to talk. "Aye, that's right, take a good look. Voted in as a member she was, and as much a part of the Blackhearts now as meself. Remember this, though: even had it not been so, she's been placed under our protection and bound we be to honour that accord. Yer a traitor through and through."

Beth turned back to see him snag Marilyn's thin arm. "Ye've turned yer back on those who've done naught but care fer ye all this time," he snarled, yanking hard to make his point. "And punished ye'll be if ye continue protectin' those as would act against us."

Marilyn uttered a heart-twisting sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "You think I would lift a finger to help you now? In all these years, you never once thought to give me that same tribute you handed to her after only a few days. Send me into exile, cut my throat – I don't care which. But what happens from this point on…well, that's on her head. I won't tell you anything."

He huffed in disgust and shoved her hard towards Morris, who caught her as she very nearly fell to the floor. "Take this back-stabbing bitch to her trawler and from me sight. Keep a guard on board 'round the clock, and disable both her communications and navigation. I'll not have her slinkin' off to warn her accomplices."

Marilyn shrieked, trying to pull away. Rackam had to help Morris haul her up the stairs and into the night. Beth listened as the woman turned the air blue with expletives that would have had any seasoned sailor blushing with embarrassment. Finally the racket faded away and Hector slumped heavily onto a bench beside the table.

"Ye need to call yer ship and warn yer people, 'Lizabeth," he said, his voice weighted with sorrow. "Don't know that Marilyn had yet betrayed the whereabouts of yer operation but it won't do to take a chance. I'll send two more ships out that way tonight in case they're of a mind to strike under cover of darkness."

"Maybe we should go back as well. Their safety is ultimately my responsibility," she suggested, feeling a little sick at the thought of an attack on her crew.

"Perhaps, but 'tis _yer_ safety that be of concern. They've no need of ye there – me men can handle themselves well enough. And I'll not be entertaining the notion any further," he warned wearily, "so ye can leave off right now if ye were planning an argument. I haven't the heart to cross swords with ye tonight."

Beth sat down opposite him and laid her hands over top of his. The incident had raised a whole lot of questions but now was definitely not the time to pursue the answers – not with his spirits so low. "I'm sorry about what happened," she said gently, letting her fingertips rove across peaks and valleys of his hand.

"Ye've nothin' to be sorry fer," he said gruffly. "She was free to choose her path and so she did." He slipped his hands away, briefly patting hers before he stood again. Not interested in talking about it then…fair enough. "Get word to yer crew, tell them to keep watch fer me men. We'll stay docked here tonight and make our way back to yer site tomorrow. Do ye concur?"

"Yes, of course." He didn't need any additional grief tonight, she thought, and besides, it was likely the prudent thing to do.

Before he ascended the stairs to see to his arrangements, he reached over and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Sorry I am, 'Lizabeth, how the night has turned 'round on us. That's not how I would have seen it go."

Beth gave him a small smile and he clambered up the stairs onto the deck. "The night isn't over, Hector," she whispered to herself. "Not by a long shot."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Barbossa's mind was troubled as he returned to his ship, done as he was with dispatching more crew to the wreck and ensuring the security of the island.

The treachery had caught him off guard. Had he not practiced of bit of exactly that himself, though, and against his own captain to boot? Perhaps it was fate's way of evening out the score. Truth was he'd have been less surprised to see it come from one of his men. They were pirates, after all, no matter what guise they'd accepted for now.

But Marilyn? He'd underestimated the bitter resolve of the broken heart, a hurt nursed for years that had festered and morphed into a source of hate. It had been there for decades, he supposed, but it took the right mark to draw it out.

Guilty he was for forgetting that Marilyn was a woman at all, for not forcing her to find a life ashore when she'd been young enough. Her love for him – yes, he knew that was what tied her to them – had robbed her of a life with one as could have appreciated her virtues. Instead he'd allowed her to stay, had taken her for granted each day she gave of herself. T'was his own thoughtlessness as had caused the betrayal.

He knew something of unrequited longing – had he himself not lost Elizabeth once already? But did he ever harbour that same resentment towards William Turner? Nay, he had decided that his was not a life suited to that kind of pairing, had not begrudged her the happiness he'd been sure she'd find with someone closer to her own age.

Marilyn had been right, though. Elizabeth Swann may have left the Pearl to begin her life ashore those hundreds of years before, but the sight of her upon the gunwale, rousing the Brethren into action that fateful day against the East India Trading Company …ah, that had been when he knew he truly loved her. And these many years had he kept that picture of her in his heart and silently mourned the loss of what might have been.

He found his way across the deck of his _Corazón_ by moonlight and memory; the only illumination was coming from portholes of his aft stateroom. The girl was likely preparing for bed and although he was sorely tempted to search her out, the timing no longer seemed right for seduction. Best leave it for another day when he was less inclined to brood.

Hector went instead to the guest quarters, slightly smaller than those he kept for himself but no less opulent for that. As he entered the room, the smell of soil, gasoline and sweat emanating from his clothes quickly became overwhelming. He wrinkled his nose in disgust – a shower was certainly in order, both to bathe and to relieve the day's tension from his shoulders.  
Access to clean water and soap was a luxury of the modern world he had come to appreciate greatly.

He tossed his jacket onto the bed and sat down to undo his boots, stretching his toes in relief as he pulled off his socks. The footwear he slid beneath the cot before he stood and stripped off his filthy t-shirt. That was bundled into a ball and tossed it into a corner along with the rag from his head.

Hector ran his fingers through his hair, feeling it fall loose against his bare back. Getting cumbersome, it was – time to either take the shears to it or start braiding it. Perhaps if he asked kindly, Elizabeth would do that for him in the morning. Oh, he could certainly braid it himself, but it would bring so much more pleasure if it were her fingers as were doing the plaiting. When was the last time a woman had wanted to touch his hair? He wasn't sure that any had ever paid it any attention at all. Elizabeth had done so on their bike ride and while it wasn't exactly sexual, it was intimate. He'd liked that.

He paused in disrobing and wondered what she was doing, only a few feet away in his stateroom. Likely tucked under the covers and fast asleep. Long legs stretched out over freshly-laundered sheets, a fan of sun-kissed hair spread like a halo above her head, a perfect mouth parted slightly in repose…

Maybe he had been too hasty in his decision to leave her be.

He took a step towards the door but made himself stop. Better to let her rest; the day had been a long and draining one already. He'd promised her he'd have his way, but given the way the night had ended, he was no longer sure it would be wise to press his luck.

His body had a different opinion about how to proceed, however, and was doing a fine job of getting its point across. Already could he feel the throb between his legs and the flush across his face that forewarned of his growing readiness. When his mind turned once again to Elizabeth spread wantonly across his bed, he knew that there would be no escaping his body's demands. Hector sighed; this was not the first time he'd had to resort to hoisting his own colours, so to speak, but he'd held better hope than that for this evening. Be that as it may, the thought of what they might have done would have to suffice for now.

He tugged his belt open and slid the zipper of his fly slowly down, slipping his hand into his pants to stroke his stirring cock. His own touch was fine but it would have been so much better had it been her dainty fingers doing the exploring.  
He felt himself twitch at the thought and he circled his hand lightly over the crotch of his fitted jersey briefs, massaging the growing stiffness within. His jeans fell to the floor with a thump, the weight of the fabric and leather more than his slender hips could support without the belt. He kicked them impatiently into the corner along with his other clothes.

It was good to be rid of the burden and he took full advantage, spreading his legs wider and bracing himself as he leaned back against the teak paneling of the cabin wall. It felt cool on his back but did little to sooth his hot skin. Hector tilted his head back and closed his eyes, tucking his thumbs beneath the waistband of his shorts and pulling them down little by little until his burgeoning erection sprung free. He shifted his hips and eased the underwear past the muscles of his thighs, letting them slide to his ankles before he pushed them out of the way.

He held himself gently at first, using just the tips of his fingers to slide up and down his thickening shaft. If only she was here…aye, he'd have her kneeling in supplication by now, transfixed by all he had to give her. Maybe she would be impatient, tormented too long with the thought of how he tasted…maybe she'd need to take him into her mouth right away.

Too big he'd be for her, he was sure, but those sweet full lips would open and the lace of her eyelashes would flutter against her cheeks as she took him anyway, deep as she could, into the warm wetness. He drew in a shuddering breath as the vision played itself out in his head.

Her tongue would flick against the tender skin of the very tip and her teeth would just barely graze the underside. "Aye, that's it…" he moaned, his grip getting tighter and the thrusts coming a bit faster. With his free hand, he smoothed a path towards his nipple and squeezed hard. The dichotomy of pain and pleasure caused even more blood to surge to his cock and turned it solid as stone as he pushed his hips forward to meet each stroke of his fist.

In his mind's eye Elizabeth would be unable to stand the feel of her clothing against her own fevered body and as she worked him eagerly, she'd impatiently push whatever she had on away from her shoulders. The garments would slither downward and gather around her small waist, revealing her soft peachy skin an inch at a time.

Her trembling hand would follow them and then slide between her thighs into the slickness that would have pooled there from her own arousal. He gasped at the thought of her fingers moving within that most dark and wondrous place, at the whimpers she'd make as she chased her own release. He could almost smell her need.

A trickle of sweat ran from his brow and down along one cheek, tickling as it trailed down his burning face. Hector's fingers clenched more tightly and his pulse was pounding, so loudly that he could almost hear it. And then he could hear it, but the pounding was really more of a knocking, and it was coming from the other side of the door.

"Hector? Are you awake?"

He instantly stopped all movement, not from fear of discovery but because the intrusion of Elizabeth's voice into his fantasy almost took him over the edge completely. Slowly he released his hold on himself and pushed away from the wall, coming back to a full stand on legs that weren't quite steady.

"I am, but I'm in need of a moment to meself," he answered, his voice like gravel. Even without further encouragement his manhood strained anxiously upwards, almost as if recognizing that relief waited on the other side of the door.

There was silence for a heartbeat or two before she spoke again. "I thought tonight…I mean, is something wrong that you wouldn't want to…? No, you know what? It's okay – it s been a rough night. If you're not really feeling up to it…"

He rolled his eyes – t'was not likely he could feel any more 'up to it' than he already did. "Hempen halters, woman! Have some patience! Don't be readin' reluctance into the fact that I just need a bleedin' minute!"

There was a hurt-sounding huff from the hall. "Well, be sure to take all the time you need, _Captain_." He heard her move off and slam shut the door to his quarters.

Looked as though he had yet another tender feeling to mend, but he'd not be capable of such until his own situation had been resolved one way or another. Hector breathed deeply, willing his heart to slow and his ardor to settle, but sheer force of will seemed to have little effect. He scowled down at his cock, still bobbing somewhat hopefully towards his navel. It would be a shower after all, then, 'though not one so warm as he first had planned.

* * *

Hector tightened the cotton cord on his drawstring pants as he walked down the hallway. He didn't savor being cold, but at the very least he was clean and clear-headed once more. There was still the gleam of light coming from beneath the door of his cabin; unlikely it was, he figured, that Elizabeth would have been able to find sleep in the midst of such ill humour. Hopeful he was that her restlessness would be to his advantage.

He rapped on the door and for a moment there was no sound from within. He imagined her lying in the captain's bed, her arms cinched angrily across her breasts and her brow furrowed like that of a petulant child. He chuckled under his breath at the thought and crossed his own arms over his bare chest, hearing her finally pad across the floor towards the door.

It opened just a few inches, enough that he could see one side of her face alone. Her soft brown eye was narrowed in anger at first, 'though as she raked her gaze over him, her disposition seemed to thaw slightly.

"Captain Barbossa," she greeted coldly as she opened the door a bit more, lifting her little chin all high and mighty as though she were greeting some simpering servant lad. Her hair lay in damp tendrils around her shoulders, draped over the knee-length black t-shirt she must have found amongst his belongings.

He stepped back and bowed, keeping a keen eye upon her as he did so. "Miss Swann. Apologies fer me short temper when first ye came callin'. I've no excuse for me discourtesy. 'Tis me fondest hope that yer inclined towards forgiveness and would allow me in to show ye the depth of me remorse."

Elizabeth's eyes glittered while she tried valiantly to look disapproving. "I'm not entirely sure it's appropriate for me to grant you access to my rooms, Captain. We are, after all, unchaperoned."

Hector unfolded his arms and laughed heartily, steadily pushing the door ajar with a determined hand. "I ne'er was one fer an audience, missy."

She gave up trying to hold it closed and as he stepped into the room, she moved slowly back. A blush was already rising in her cheeks and he found the modesty beguiling. It was something she'd soon learn to do without.

He glanced 'round the room and soon came to understand why she'd been anxious when he didn't return directly to join her – she'd gone out of her way to set an alluring scene. He smiled, moved that such was important to her.

The cabin's illumination came not from electricity, but instead from the small candle lanterns he always had stowed for emergencies. The tiny flames glimmered off the gleaming brass fixtures and cast a soft golden glow that flowed over the rich wood.

A bottle of his finest shiraz had been opened and two cut crystal goblets laid out on the bureau, the wine of a red so deep that it almost looked black. Elizabeth had even gone so far as to lay out bits of fruit and cheese upon a silver plate. He strode over and picked up a slice of tart green apple, sliding it into his mouth as she watched hopefully for his reaction.

He chewed thoughtfully but then stopped as he stared at her, realization dawning. What she'd done here…the lighting, the wine, the food…it was as if she was replaying that very first night upon the _Black Pearl_. He'd been so determined to impress her then, wanting her to see him as more than a dark and ragged man. There'd been fine food, rich wine and dim lights to disguise his ragged visage. It had been meant to be a gentle approach to assure her of his sophistication…of his humanity.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth asked, disappointment on her lovely face at his lack of response.

Hector approached her slowly, looking deeply into her eyes. Did she understand what she'd done? Had some distant memory materialized out of time and compelled her to recreate the setting of their very first time alone? Perhaps there was a way to test the theory, should she be amenable.

He bent and slowly kissed the pout from her lips, the juice from the apple making her taste better yet. "Nothing wrong," he assured her. "Just thinking, was all, that there be one last thing I'll ask of ye before I make it so ye'll forget ever havin' had another man."

Her brow smoothed as her tempting smile returned. "Not so lofty an ambition as you might think, Hector. There have been very few against whom to compare."

"Be that as it may," he continued, pleased that she'd not squandered her charms upon the undeserving, "will ye indulge me in this?" He kissed her again, flicking his tongue along her bottom lip and eliciting a gasp of sweet breath against his face.

"Whatever you ask," she replied, her voice low as she reached up to smooth his own lip with her finger, closing her eyes as he drew it into his mouth and bit at it gently. "If it pleases you, I'll do it."

He drew both of her hands up to his mouth and kissed them, then released her to crouch down beside the bed. From the very bottom drawer he drew a heavy wooden box and used his palms to smooth away some of the dust that had gathered there over the years.

Of all the treasures he'd saved before the _Pearl_ had slipped beneath the waves, this one alone had remained precious in his sight. A prince's ransom he'd paid to have it restored and preserved, and 'though he'd not looked upon it for nigh on half a century now, knowing it lay beneath where he slept at night had given him a tie to Elizabeth that had spanned time.

Still kneeling, he looked up to her and offered her the box. "Somethin' more suited to the occasion than me t-shirt…NO!" he said, stopping her before she could open the box. She looked at him, startled. "Please wait. Take it with ye to the guest cabin, ye can don the garment there. I don't want ye to see it 'til yer alone."

Her smile was playful and her eyebrow arched. "Does this hold thigh-high leather boots and a whip? Or perhaps a French maid's costume?"

He shook his head slowly, unable to laugh at the jest. Her own smile faded when she saw he was in earnest about the contents of the box. "Okay. I'll be right back."

She disappeared into the hallway and the door snicked closed behind her. Hector sat back upon his heels, suddenly wondering if he'd made a wise decision. If she did remember, he might have let his one chance to have her slip from between his fingers. Where would that leave him then?

Likely alone and resorting to self-pleasure, the voice in his head answered mockingly.

Hector pulled himself to a stand once more and poured out a glass of wine for each of them. Of his he took a long and steady draught, suddenly in need of some liquid fortification. The wine wound a long warm trail down his throat, and the taste of berries and oak lingering in his mouth. He licked at the remnants on his lips and poured himself another, settling himself uneasily into a chair to await the girl's return.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Nothing could be easy with Hector Barbossa, Beth thought as she burst into the guest cabin, not even that which by now should have happened quite naturally. It wasn't enough that he finally had her alone and back aboard his ship – he had to fashion circumstances to his liking, never mind the fact that he'd hardly noticed the effort she'd gone through to create a romantic setting. If wearing what lay within the box was what it took to finally get what she so desperately needed, though, she'd not deny him that pleasure.

Beth impatiently shook the top of the box off and stopped, taken aback at what lie within. She was no expert in antique textiles; such treasures did not survive the assault of the sea, not even for a few years. It was clear enough, though, that the dress in the box was crafted centuries before. Her brow furrowed – what on earth was a formidable biker lord doing with such a thing, let alone a garment that had to be hundreds of years old? It seemed strange, but likely no more strange that some of what had transpired over the past week. She decided that it was enough for now to know that it meant something to him, and that he wanted her to wear it.

She began to yank the t-shirt she wore over her head and paused, instead pulling the fabric up against her nose and inhaling. After her shower, she'd looked for something to wear and had found the top in Hector's clothes hamper, ready for the laundry. It smelled so much like him that she'd been unable to resist putting it on and hugging it against her body. Sweat, leather and a musky scent that belong to him alone had been enough to bring her nipples to hard, aching points. Beth whimpered in a needful way as she finally removed it and tossed it on the bed.

The gown was made of raw burgundy silk, accented with gold braid and black appliqués, and lined with some kind of cotton undergarment. The bodice was of a rough black lace and boned, coming down into a fine point at the waist, and the bell sleeves bunched into cream coloured tatting. Rather fussy and likely also very heavy. No doubt it looked far better on a woman than it felt to wear. If things progressed the way Beth hoped, though, she'd not have it on for long.

Flipping the dress so it was front-down on the bed and then gathering up the layers of skirting in her hands, she lifted it up over her head and found the sleeves with her up-stretched arms. It slid down over her body, the lining gliding sensuously against her naked skin and sending a chill through her with its feathery touch. She shifted her hips and shoulders, working it down and straightening the folds as she turned to look in the dresser mirror.

She smiled at her reflection as she tied the top of the shift. Not as modest as she'd thought and the black lace was not exactly reminiscent of either high society or good breeding. Perhaps it hadn't been made for someone well-born at all. She jerked at the sides of the bodice, fastening the hooks as far as they'd go. Petite though she was, the gown had obviously been made for someone even smaller than she.

The outfit was definitely designed to accentuate a woman's cleavage and Beth was pleased to see that it gave even her meagre bust a rather buxom appearance. Whether it had belonged to a fine lady or a whore, it didn't matter – what counted was that after she wore it, Hector wouldn't be able to see it again without thinking of her.

She plumped her breasts in the bodice, going for the most wanton effect possible. Catching her own eye and biting a smile back, she ran delicate fingers over the top of each pale mound. It was better when she closed her eyes, though, and imagined the touch to be Hector's instead. Her face warmed at the idea alone.

Just when she thought that she was finally ready to rejoin him, a further examination in the mirror had her frowning at her hair. It was clean but still damp and hung rather lankly over her shoulders, definitely not doing the dress any justice. A hasty exploration of the drawers in the head yielded a couple of elastic bands and a comb; these she used to sweep her hair together and off of her neck into a makeshift up-do. A few errant strands escaped the band and drifted down to curl into her face. Not perfect by any means, but better.

Beth twirled slowly, making sure that everything was in place, and smiled back at herself. The gown flattered, that was certain, and although not the most comfortable thing she'd ever donned, it made her feel desirable and confident. What any man should want, right?

Her smile faltered somewhat. The package might look good, but she wondered now if her lack of experience would disappoint. Most of her limited sexual repertoire she owed to her ex-husband and while William had been enthusiastic at times, making love with him had usually been very sweet and very predictable. Comfortable.

Beth had dated after the divorce but the few times she had gone so far as to take a guy to bed, she'd almost always been disappointed. It wasn't as if the sex had been physically unsatisfying but without some kind of intimate connection, the act had lacked intensity.

But Hector…yes, Hector was intensity personified. Intensely physical, intensely passionate, forceful and fearless. True that he had been gentle to this point, but she knew that he had been practicing remarkable restraint and that he likely would not have done so for anyone but her. That alone spoke to her of his feelings, for his own need to have more than an outlet for physical desire.

Beth wouldn't dare call it love, not so early on. She didn't want to taint it with that hope. But tonight…it was more than the relief of tension. More than infatuation. It was _more_.

* * *

Hector rose quickly when she swung the door open, sloshing some of the wine out over the rim of his glass. He didn't seem to notice as it dripped from his hand onto the floor, so intent was he on the sight of her in the heirloom gown.

Beth closed the door behind her and bolted the lock, determined that there would be no further interruptions and no more excuses. As she approached him, his eyes sparked blue in the candlelight and he took in an unsteady breath. "Yer beautiful, 'Lizabeth. Gods above, I'd nearly forgotten."

The awe in his words made her heart swell. She took the glass from him and put it down on the bureau, then lifted his hand to her mouth. Keeping her eyes on his, she slowly licked away the droplets of wine from each of his fingers, unable to completely keep the smile from her face as he exhaled sharply.

"You nearly forgot? Gone that long, was I?" she teased.

His nostrils flared as his breathing deepened. "Seemed like centuries," he growled, searching her eyes as he turned his hand to cradle her cheek, "and I'm thinkin' that I've earned me just reward fer showin' such patience."

"Well, perhaps you should do less talking and more claiming of said reward," Beth said, leaning in towards him as if for a kiss but then stopping a hair's breadth from taking it. "I grow tired of conversation."

She knew Hector would take the bait but the force with which he did so stunned her. Her back hit the door hard enough when he seized her that she was knocked breathless before he even began to kiss her. His mouth came down hard, his full lips capturing hers in a brutal testament to his desire.

Beth's hands slid up his arms and clutched at his biceps, thrilling at the tempered power of the muscles beneath her fingers. She drew back from him just a little, taking what few gasps of air he'd allow before he resumed his joyously welcome exploration of her mouth. All but purring, she leaned into him, just as desperate to taste him and to further fuel his need.

Hector's breath was hot against her face, and she could taste the ghosts of wine and apples in his kisses. He had her by her hips, pushed back against the unyielding door, but she needed to be touched. She wanted to feel him against her, wanted more than he was giving her now. She wriggled against him, working her hands between them so she could divest him of what little clothing he wore. As Beth began to tug on the string of his pants, though, he reached down unexpectedly and grabbed her wrists, trapping them against the door on either side of her body.

"Think ye that yer in control here, missy?" he whispered hoarsely against her cheek, chuckling in such a deliciously sinister way that she whimpered in anticipation. "Ye'll do naught but what I permit. Too long have I cosseted ye and let ye have yer way. Ye will submit tonight and thank me fer it in the morn."

With his words, Beth's breath hitched in her lungs and wetness dampened her thighs, but she wasn't so easily subjugated. "Another speech, Hector? Or is that the only thing of which you are capable? Perhaps my patience deserves a reward as well."

He let out a bawdy laugh, walking backwards towards the bed and pulling her along. "Clumsy attempt, lass. I won't fall fer yer manipulation again. I be chartin' the course now." He twirled her in his arms, catching hold of her wrists once more and trapping them behind her back with one large hand. When she'd regained her bearings, Beth could see that he had the both of them facing the full length mirror on the closet door.

She watched her chest rising and falling, her breasts pushing forward against the constraining hold of the corset with each breath. Hector leered at her over her shoulder, catching her confused eyes in the reflection before them. "Tell me, girl – have ye ever seen yerself get lost in the throes of lust?"

Uncertainty rose in her. It was one thing to lay herself bare before him, imperfections and all; it was quite another to observe herself doing so. "No, I don't want to do that, Hector. Please…that's not something I can watch." Beth turned her face away, flushing with embarrassment.

His hand moved up the smooth lining of the dress, towards her throat. "Ye can and ye will. Enhances me pleasure, it does, to see a woman watching as she goes to pieces at me touch." Hector took her chin in his hand, gently forcing her to look back again, "The sight will do the same fer ye, I swear it."

She stared warily back at him but didn't attempt to look away again. The wicked glint in his eye assured her of his approval and he lightly ran a finger up the side of her neck. "Keep yer eyes open, 'Lizabeth. Know how lovely a woman undone can be."

A shiver travelled up through her limbs – the lack of control was thrilling, the way in which he exerted his domination almost unbearably arousing. He smiled knowingly before closing his eyes and nuzzling her nape, his warm breath making her feel weak.

He kissed a slow wet trail from behind her ear and down to her collarbone, gently blowing the escaped tendrils of hair from his path. She was helpless to do anything but observe as she bared her neck to him, silently begging for more of the same. His long hair slid forward and tickled her back with a feathery touch that teased more than it satisfied.

Hector placed a palm across her throat and coaxed her to move her head so he could give the same kind attention to the other side. Beth writhed in the tender torture of her captivity, frustrated that she couldn't touch him but increasingly turned on that she was completely at his mercy. For someone who worked to manage all aspects of her life, to lose the ability to do so was an almost decadent thrill. To watch her skin flush in the wake of his every touch doubled the sensation.

Her breasts were aching for attention, her nipples hard and rubbing almost painfully against the inside of the shift. Each kiss he lavished upon her neck and shoulders made her breath come faster and made the friction within the corset worse. If she could just loosen the bodice, just a little, it would be so much more pleasant.

"Hector…oh!" she cried, his tongue finding the ridges of her ear and causing more tremours in her legs. "Please…uhn…"

"Be there somethin' I can do fer ye?" he breathed, taking an earlobe into his mouth and biting at it until her eyes rolled back in her head.

"God…_oh please_…the dress. If you would let go, just for a moment…it's so tight…_oh_!" Beth clamped her legs together, seeking friction that would relieve some of the throbbing. How could he reduce her to this with only kisses? When her eyes blinked open, she could see desperation on her face and her chest heaving even harder in its lacy bonds.

"Beg me, 'Lizabeth" he demanded softly, "and look at me as ye do so."

Indignation flared briefly but when she locked eyes with him and saw the naked hunger burning there, the fires of rebellion seemed rather dim compared to the pulsing heat of her core. "Please. Please let my hands go – it will only take a moment."

His lips spread in a wolfish grin. "No."

"How can you be so cruel?" Beth laughed in disbelief, although she was nearly in tears from the warring sensations of longing and discomfort.

"I'll be havin' ye on me own terms, lass, but I'll not have ye calling it cruelty," he answered, the mirth gone and the hunger returned. Hector's hand slid around her waist and she watched it slip towards the bindings on the garment. His long, graceful fingers crept upwards and found the first clasp, releasing it with a twist of his wrist.

By the time the third hook had been unfastened, she was sighing in grateful relief. He watched her face closely as he continued on, finally undoing all the hooks. "How's that feel?" he asked softly, moving aside the boned panels that had held her upper body in check.

"It's better, but I need…" she watched his hand disappear back behind her, disappointed that he hadn't continued to make his way through the thin layer of fabric covering her breasts. She so needed to have his hands there, to feel the roughness of his touch against the stiffness of her nipples. A breathy moan escaped from her lips at the thought.

"Mmm. Ye need, what? Out with it." He plucked the elastics from her hair and released it from its careful arrangement. It slid over her shoulders and skimmed across the exposed skin of her back, causing her to sigh unevenly. He lifted the tresses and buried his face against them, obviously revelling in the feel against his skin. It tormented her to no end he could take whatever he wanted while she was forced to watch him do so.

"I need you to touch more than my hair and my face," she finally confessed, blushing again. She wasn't used to expressing her own physical desires, not out loud. "I can't feel anything with all this material. I don't want to play this game anymore - I need to have you pressed against me with nothing between us."

"Do ye now?" He met her eyes again, smugly satisfied at drawing it from her at last. She felt the skirts lifting from behind and sliding up the backs of her calves until they had gathered up around her hips. The cooler air hit the skin on the back of her legs and then further up, following the progress of gown. Hector groaned from behind her as he smoothed his hand reverently over her fully exposed buttocks. Beth's legs trembled at his caress and she spread them slightly, wanting him to go on.

His breathing was ragged and she felt him shifting behind her. The voluminous dress hid him from her sight and she didn't realize what he was doing until she saw his pants fall to the floor between their feet. She pulled at her hands, trying to draw away so she could finally turn and see him…all of him. Her struggle was in vain, though, as he effortlessly kept a tight grip on her.

Hector yanked her back against him in rebuke for her resistance. She gasped as he pushed his cock up against the cleft of her ass and her eyes fluttered closed on the look of shock her mirror-self wore. Although she had touched him through his jeans and had felt the promise of his arousal pressed up against her body through her clothes before, none of it had prepared her for the length or heft of what was now nestled between the globes of her ass. Trapped between them, the wet tip of his member kissed the small of her back and throbbed so hotly that she was sure it would leave a brand against her tender skin. Her body clenched hard and her breasts quivered as she moaned, wanting to see…wanting so badly to touch the thick, hard flesh straining against her.

He flexed his hips against her bottom again, causing her to gasp and squirm against him in search of gratification. His sing-song voice rasped as he murmured against her temple. "Now that ye can feel me, 'Lizabeth, tell me that ye must have me. Tell me that ye want me to ram the whole of myself into yer sweet pink depths 'til ye weep from bliss."

"Yes, I want you! What do I have to do to prove it?" Beth swivelled her hips backwards, crying out in frustration. He bucked against the part in her cheeks and swore, forgetting to keep her hands snugly trapped as he grabbed her by the waist to halt her movement.

"Still, girl, be still!" he croaked huskily. "Ye'll have me finished before we've begun."

Hearing his plea but desperate to soothe the unfulfilled agony raging within, Beth ripped at the cords that laced up the lining of the dress. Fingers shaking, she pushed the weighty gown from her shoulders and then down, stumbling out of Hector's reach until the stifling clothing fell to her ankles.

She stepped away from the fabric and stared into the mirror before her, her blood racing as she watched him approach from behind, wanting fervently to finally see that which she'd so keenly felt. He stayed maddeningly out of sight, though, and just as she would have turned, his arms came around her and his strong fingers spread over her midriff.

"Perfect," he muttered against her temple, bringing her hard up against him once more as he devoured her with his eyes. "Suits ye even more than the dress."

Beth tipped her head back against his shoulder. Reaching up to thread a hand through his hair, she pulled his face down for a kiss. His long, shuddering breath betrayed his yearning and swept over her lips just before he claimed her mouth once more.

With the tip of his tongue he sought entry but she resisted, drawing back for just a moment when he groaned in displeasure. When they kissed again, it was she who plundered, sliding her tongue into his mouth and filling her senses with his taste as she sought out the delicate flesh inside. She stretched her other hand out behind her, sliding her fingers from the solid flesh of his thigh up to the soft cleft above his hip bone.

Hector came away gasping with a trace of a smile on his full lips. "A sinful temptress ye be," he whispered, "intent on havin' yer wicked way by stealing the very breath from a man."

"I want more than that from you," she purred as she turned to brazenly stare at herself. Hector had been right. Seeing herself aroused – and seeing how it aroused him in turn – helped her understand that while he might think he was forcing his will upon her, she held the real power.

Arching an eyebrow at him, she licked her fingers and ran them lightly over her swollen nipples, leaning into her own touch and sighing as she slowly shifted her hips side to side against his massive erection. "I want you to take me with your hands…your mouth…your cock…"

"Vixen!" he hissed from between clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he fought for control again. "Ye'll not rush me in this."

Hector's coarse hands slid slowly up her torso, pushing aside her fingers as he found her breasts and lightly tracing the curve of each one with his thumb. Beth whimpered and grabbed his hands with hers, impatient with the mildness of his caress. He was true to his word, though, when he said he wouldn't be hurried, and he teased her with obscene tenderness until she was sure she'd die from the anticipation.

When he did drag a lazy finger across each nipple, she squealed and jerked in his arms, so intense was the pleasure. Her clit throbbed in time to her heartbeat and she dropped a hand to nestle between the folds of swollen skin between her legs, unable to keep from touching herself as he stroked and rolled her taut pink buds.

She saw the raw lust grow on Hector's face as he watched her fingers working and it took her breath away. A noise of wordless desire rumbled deep in his throat and he began to move his hips against her backside. Her secretions surged and slicked over her fingers, and she felt herself opening for him, ready to take what he had to give.

"Please," she begged, arching back against him. "Now…I can't wait..."

With a feral growl, he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her down onto the high bed. She landed softly on the cool, luxurious sheets but immediately sought purchase so she could prop herself up on her elbows and finally look at his body as he had looked upon hers.

Beth knew he would have doubted her sincerity if she said it out loud, but he really was beautiful. He had scars, true enough, but each one seemed only to accentuate a tanned canvas of lean muscle that belied his age. A light sheen of perspiration lent a gleam to his skin in the glow of the candles, the hard lines of his shoulders, arms and hips etched in light and shadow.

From a thatch of dark coppery hair at his groin, his cock swayed up towards his body, thicker than her wrist at the base and tapering slightly before the flare of the bulbous, dusky purple head. Fully emerged from his foreskin, the smooth tip glistened with a single lustrous drop that she yearned to lave away with her tongue.

With that thought, Beth licked at her bottom lip and his cock dipped, almost visibly pulsating as he reacted to her scrutiny. Her eyes followed the pale blue veins that lined his shaft, down his long and lovely length to the full, rosy sac between his legs, large enough to fill her hands with its fleshy weight. Even the hard ledge of his hip and the rigid planes of his legs called out to be touched, caressed and sampled.

Her gaze raked back over every part of him, over his pectorals, his shoulders, his lips. Beth reached out to take his hand and saw that while Hector stood straight and proud over her, the look in his deep blue eyes was one of hopeful vulnerability. She wanted him all the more for it and pulled him steadily towards her.

Hector climbed up onto the mattress and she moved back to make room. Beth's heart thudded against her ribs as he crawled over top of her, advancing like a big game cat stalking its prey. She lay back until he stopped with his face above hers and his hands and knees on either side of her body. Beth curled an arm around his neck and brought his lips to hers again, needing to kiss him now every bit as much as she needed to breathe. His mouth felt like fire against hers, his tongue parrying hers as his beard scraped over her soft skin.

"Touch me," he whispered raggedly against her lips. "Take me into yer hands, feel what ye've done to me."

Still being slowly undone with his kisses, Beth slid her hands down his heaving chest, delighting in the topography of his abdomen and tracing each straining muscle as she went. His erection bumped against her fingers and she felt the sticky traces of fluid as she wrapped her hands around him as best she could.

As Hector groaned against her mouth, she gripped him and firmly slid her hands from head to base and back again, his foreskin sliding sumptuously in her grasp. His cock jumped as she smoothed her thumbs over the broad crown and he impatiently lunged into the sheath formed by her fingers.

Her own hips came up off the bed as she reacted instinctively, a new flush of moisture leaking from her opening and coating her inner thighs. She swept her fingers down his shaft once more, finding the hard ridge on the underside and tracing its descent to his heavy sac.

Beth cradled his balls, grazing them carefully with her nails and drawing another astonished gasp from his lips before she dragged her hands back up once more. The lush scent of his arousal grew stronger and she breathed it in deeply, desperately. Hector grunted as she caressed the weeping head of his cock.

"Open yerself to me," he said, his voice quaking. "Must tip the velvet before the smell of yer desire robs me of all control."

"Tip the velvet? What do…oh!" Beth froze as he gently removed himself from her hold and moved backwards, dipping his head towards the dark curls between her legs. He closed his eyes, inhaling as if savouring some exotic bouquet. She trembled as he smoothed his fingers over the soft skin of her thighs and her legs fell open instinctively, boldly.

"Aye…," he drawled, "that's it. Just a taste, 'tis all I need. Fuck, girl, but the perfume of yer quim nearly takes me to the brink…"

She closed her eyes and sighed as he touched her in her most intimate of places, fingering her softly and parting each delicate fold as though opening up the petals of a rose. He spread his fingers over her mound and in so doing, coaxed her wider and laid her most secretive self bare before him.

Beth's limbs stiffened as if she'd been electrified when his hot tongue touched the edge of her opening, circling slowly. She drew her knees up as he suckled at her outer lips, his fingernails carefully grazing her engorged pussy before he pushed a rough finger into her, testing her readiness.

Thrusting forward to meet him, Beth moaned deeply and reached down to grasp a handful of his hair. Slowly she rode his finger as he continued to suck and kiss her incredibly sensitive flesh, the vibration from his throaty moans of need igniting starbursts behind her eyes. He slowly withdrew his finger only to push his tongue into her, a firm hand sliding beneath her and tilting her hips up, all the better to taste her more deeply.

She writhed in pleasure, a harsh cry of happiness breaking from her lips as his tongue finally found her own small erection from where it had emerged hard and ready from beneath its hood. His damp locks brushed across her navel as he jabbed and lapped at her pliant flesh, and again he pushed his fingers into her, spreading her wider before him. She threw her head back into the bed, finally determined to give voice to her own hunger.

"I want to feel you move inside me, Hector. Now, goddammit!"

He snarled his response and lifted his head, giving her a look so ravenous that a shudder moved through her. He swept forward over her again, capturing her mouth with a kiss that jolted her with its ruthlessness. Driven by the tangy taste of her need on his lips, she hooked a leg around his hip and lifted herself in offering as she grabbed hold of his arms. He took his organ into his hand, stroking it tantalizingly over her swollen, slippery entrance.

"Need to take ye…gently. Don't…don't want to…to hurt ye," he stuttered, every muscle tense with his restraint. "I'll take no…pleasure in yer pain."

"You won't hurt me, I promise," she murmured, punctuating her words with small kisses. "You've seen how wet, how ready I am for you. Don't you dare hold anything back."

She was squirming beneath him and trying to urge him forward when he suddenly plunged into her up to the hilt, the silken fluids that had been coaxed from her body easing his passage. Even so, the scale to which he filled her startled her. Beth bowed her back and clutched at his shoulders, crying out his name as her body worked to stretch and accommodate his sheer girth. Her hands trembled as she sunk her nails into his skin, waves of ecstasy spreading up through her channel ahead of him.

Slowly he began to move, gently withdrawing a few inches before surging forth into her again, his breath catching in his throat each time. "Too long have I waited to take ye and make ye mine. Ye feel so good, 'Lizabeth. So hot, so snug…a man could lose himself forever in such," he panted, looking down into her face with awe as he thrust languorously. "Break me apart, ye will, and I'm not of a mind to resist."

An unsteady whimper spilled from her lips as he pulled out almost all the way, only to slam into her again and send new carnal rapture swirling through her as their hips collided. Beth tried to keep her eyes open, wanting him to be able to see the extent of her passion, but the sensations were just too powerful and she let her lids fall closed, carried on the crest of her building tension.

She felt his beard brush her breast and then wet heat surround her nipple. With each thrust, Hector flicked first one stiff bud and then the other with his tongue and teeth, causing her to jerk in tormented delight. The walls of her pussy slowly clenched around him, drawing him in even further and causing him to curse under his breath. The pulse of his cock within her matched the thundering beat of his heart…or was it her heart? So intertwined were they that she could hardly tell the difference anymore.

The tell-tale flutter deep inside of her had already begun to grow, the pressure becoming less bearable. She lifted her other leg over his hip and hooked her ankles behind him, wanting more than he was giving…wanting him to take more than he was… before she found her climax.

"You're…too slow! Hector…please…God…harder!"

He cried out and reared back on his knees, and her eyes flew wide open as he grabbed her by her ass with both hands and pulled her hips up over his thighs, burying himself in her as deeply as he could. She lay helpless before him, impaled on his erection like a butterfly pinned to a board, barely able to breathe from the suddenness and depth of his entry. He pushed her knees apart as far as they'd go and pumped into her, his balls hitting the soft flesh of her buttocks as he forced her further into the mattress with the weight of his assault.

She twisted and tried to match his rhythm, but it was impossible from her position and she surrendered herself to his strength and will. The tremours began to ripple through her and she grabbed at the sheets around her, trying to steady herself against the rise of her orgasm. Hector's eyes were closed, a grimace creasing his face and the most primal of sounds emanating from his parted lips. Droplets of sweat shone on his brow at the effort of their frenzied coupling, and the muscles of his stomach flexed and bowed as he pushed himself into her.

Beth was going to explode, she was so close…and as if he knew exactly what she needed, he slid a hand from her hip to her pussy, circling around her rigid little clit with the pad of his thumb. She ground against his hand until she came apart completely with a scream that emptied her lungs, and left her limp and quivering.

Just as her own quaking began to slow, Hector bucked against her with complete abandon, roaring ferociously as he came into her with a burst of liquid heat that she felt sear her womb. He held her hips to his, shaking from the force of his release and gasping for air as his spasms died down.

They remained like that for a time, trying to compose themselves before they moved. As his softening member slipped from her, Beth edged back gingerly before collapsing in spent satisfaction on Hector's pillow. Her thighs still trembled from the after-effects of the adrenaline racing through her veins and she swept her tangled hair beneath her so it was out of her face. She smiled to herself as Hector lay down beside her, resting his damp head upon her belly and laying his arm possessively across her legs, his breath tickling her warm skin.

She thought of saying something, but there were no words that wouldn't have taken the shine off of the moment. Instead she ran a hand slowly through his sweat-slicked hair, content to be held so tenderly by such a wild and forceful man.

After a while, Hector lifted his head and she beamed happily down at him as he searched her eyes, for what she was not sure. He moved closer so that they were face to face and he kissed her sweetly before tucking her head beneath his chin and drawing her into his arms. She snuggled up against him and closed her eyes, letting fulfilled exhaustion gradually claim her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Not since he'd been a wee lad, his bed a simple pallet beside the family hearth, had Hector awoken with the same sense of contentment he enjoyed with the arrival of the dawn. His had been a dreamless sleep and an easy awakening, the strife of the day before supplanted by the presence of a beautiful woman between his sheets and recollection of the way she'd given herself over to her passion and his.

He stretched his arms and then tucked his hands beneath his head, careful not to disturb the girl's well-deserved slumber. If he'd ever entertained an idea that a single night of lust would purge Elizabeth Swann from his heart for good, he understood it now to be outright self-deception. If anything, knowing her in the most private of ways only deepened his adoration and further enflamed his desire. No use denying it – he was good and lost.

She rolled towards him and snorted loudly, her face veiled by her tangled brown mane. His lips twitched in a grin at the distinctly unladylike sound, knowing she'd be appalled at having made such a noise at all. Elizabeth squirmed, reaching instinctively across the sheets for him only to fall back into stillness again when her fingers found the warm skin of his side. He smiled to himself and reached down to caress her hand gently.

A sensible man would cast off lines and set sail for some distant isle before she woke, taking her from the turmoil and danger awaiting them just miles from Wisteria. Hector knew she'd not stand for it, though, and while he might pretend that her stubborn nature galled him to no end, he'd not have her any different. What was it if not her fire that he loved, the wilful spirit of her heart?

Even if he could convince her, flight would likely do them no good – he hated to admit it, but he knew that to be true. No wind blew as could carry them far enough away to avoid their part in whatever tale was unfolding. Best it was to become resigned to the fact now and deal head on with whatever was destined to come in the days ahead.

He sighed and looked over at Elizabeth's still form. He should likely be up and having one of his men cook something with which the two of them could break their fast; he had, after all, promised he'd have her back to her dive site before the day was very far along. He'd have to go and deal with Marilyn before they left, too...perhaps a night alone, pondering both her betrayal and her fate, would prompt her to reveal their enemies. He didn't want to think on the punishment he had no choice but to exact.

For now, though...ah, the sun was still low on the horizon, and the dim haven of his stateroom held too much promise of pleasure for him to abandon it so rashly.

Hector reached over and slowly tugged the edge of the blanket off of Elizabeth's tan shoulder. He paused, waiting to see if she noticed but there was no change in her breathing. Carefully rolling over on his side, he again took hold of the bedding and pulled it further down as he leaned closer to her neck. There he breathed deeply of her inviting scent before placing a kiss on her fragrant skin.

He traced a path over her side with his hand, pushing the covers down to the valley where her hip began. He kissed her there as well, his hair falling forward and trailing over her waist as his lips moved. She shivered and muttered in her sleep.

"What's that, me girl?" he said teasingly as he raised his head, admiring the lovely breast that had been exposed as the covers had come down. He bent towards her rose-tinted nipple, intent on waking her with the slow arousal of his tongue.

"Said…ridiculous hat. The feathers tickle…Barbossa, take it off…" she moaned quietly.

He stopped moving altogether, his heart frozen in shock. Hector shook his head. "What did you say, 'Lizabeth?" he asked hoarsely, drawing the downy tresses away from her face so he could see her reaction.

Despite the question, she did not awaken but merely sighed happily, a ghost of a smile gracing her face briefly before she drifted deeper into sleep again. He let the curtain of hair slip from his fingers and then sagged back against his own pillow, staring blankly upwards as he sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady his pulse.

It wasn't a memory from the distant past that had passed from the girl's lips, 'though it had almost sounded like one at first. Fairly certain he was that had she ever said such, he'd have remembered it well. But neither was it a recent reminiscence, what with the allusion to his attire of old and the name by which she had called him. Damn it all, he knew well enough what it wasn't – if he could just figure out what it was, his mind would certainly rest easier.

But there was what she'd said and then there was the way she'd said it...and the more he thought upon that, the more intrigued he grew. Hector absently rubbed at his beard, thinking upon the sound of her voice. It wasn't the whimper of a frightened governor's daughter or the haughty disdain of the girl who'd sailed over the edge with him, but very much that of a woman full of desire and need.

More and more it seemed as if perhaps Elizabeth of old had harboured some of the same longings for him as did the Elizabeth now sharing his bed. Same soul she had, after all, and so long as her feelings remained constant through it all, what good did it do him to borrow worry? Ungrateful it would be to call into question whatever blessing had finally brought them together. He'd not waste time dwelling upon it.

He looked again to where she rested peacefully and he was seized with the need to awaken her before more of their morning burned away like fog from the water. Hector turned over and picked up her hand, tenderly pressing the tips of her fingers to his lips. She sighed again but moved no more than that, and so he forged a path of kisses that began at her wrist and wound along the tender skin of her forearm all the way to the inside of her elbow. He licked languidly at the velvety hollow there, savouring the sweet taste on his tongue.

As he glanced at her face, Elizabeth sleepily blinked a few times and stirred awake slowly, a shy smile spreading as she focused upon him. "Good morning," she said, reclaiming her arm so she could drape it delicately over his shoulder.

His heart was touched to see her face reflect happiness back at him. So long as he worked to capture her heart in the here and now, he decided, the past could encroach all it wanted and she'd still be his – he would make damned sure of it.

"And to ye. Did ye sleep soundly?"

She bit at her lower lip as her eyes sparkled. "Yes, I did. Of course, I was exhausted beyond all reason after being ridden in such a wild and brutish manner." She played about with the hairs on the nape of his neck and sent a shiver through him with her touch.

"I heard nary a complaint last night," he smiled proudly, smoothing his palm over the crest of her hip and the smooth curve of her ass. With a tug he pulled her closer to him and she rewarded him by entwining her legs with his in a slow, sensuous dance. As Elizabeth's skin slid warmly over his, Hector's lust flared once more and his cock hardened, pressing into the softness of her belly.

Her luscious mouth parted slightly in delight and she slowly swivelled her hips against his erection, drawing a throaty moan from his lips. "Trust me, I have no complaints. I think I'd be hard pressed to find any fault with your technique."

"Still an' all…best to keep practicin'," he intoned, raising an eyebrow at her as he skimmed his hand up over the small of her back. "Wouldn't want to lose me edge."

Elizabeth nuzzled his chest with her nose, her eyes falling to half mast as she laid wet kisses on his skin. "I do believe I was dreaming about you when you woke me up, you know," she whispered against him, finding his nipple with her teeth and then teasing it to a point with the tip of her tongue.

The comment caused his heart to jump, but his anxiety dissolved with the rather distracting and altogether wonderful way she bit at him. "What makes ye say so?" he managed to gasp out as her nibbling turned instead to sucking. A growl rumbled deep within him and he arched his back, weaving his fingers through her hair and pushing his puckered nipple further between her lips. It almost felt as though a silken cord was tugging at his balls with each delicate mouthful she took and the sensation set his blood afire.

"Because from the moment I opened my eyes, I was already aching for you," she said, the breath from her mouth cooling the tight little peak she'd been worrying and causing his cock to twitch heavily where it lay nestled between them. "I don't remember much about my dream, but I do know that I was desperate to have you ease yourself into me, inch by glorious inch, until you filled me completely. But you were teasing, tickling...tormenting me until I thought I'd go mad from lust."

Returning to the task at hand, she lazily circled the flat tan circle around his other nipple with her tongue, making him squirm again and barely able to keep from smiling as she did so. "Can you possibly imagine how that might feel?"

Hector barked out a laugh and grabbed her suddenly by her hips. She squeaked with surprise as he lifted her up and over so that she straddled his waist and her hands rested flat against his chest. "Ye push me too far, my love. Only so much a man can be expected to take before he's the one as is doin'the takin'."

His shaft nudged against the sweet, wet heat between her legs and he sighed unevenly. She was a sight, for sure, proudly set astride his slender hips as her small breasts quivered with each sharp breath she took. A beautiful masthead she looked to be, made flesh and blood and wanting nothing more than to find fulfillment with him. He was startled, then, to look at her face and see a tear winding its way over her flushed cheek.

"What's wrong? 'Lizabeth, did I hurt ye? Too forceful I was last night, I've left ye sore..." he said with alarm, sitting half way up. He cursed himself for his roughness.

She shook her head and pushed him back down onto the mattress. "No, it's not that...it's nothing, I'm fine."

"Yer not fine, don't spin me such a fable. Tell me," he insisted, bewildered at the sudden change. "Can't stand to see ye thus."

Elizabeth looked down at where her fingers had spread over his chest, avoiding his eyes. The tear dropped and fell upon his torso, and he laid his hands upon hers, trying to give her what comfort he could without knowing what pained her.

"What you called me just now, you've never said it that way before." she whispered. "Was it just pillow talk…or…"

It finally dawned on him what had affected her so. Vigilant he'd been about keeping his terms of endearment ambiguous – he hadn't felt it prudent to tip his hand so early – but his true heart had shown itself with the single word, 'love.'

Who had wounded her so badly that she would doubt it, and so much so that a simple word held such power? Likely that miserable little bugger Turner. Anger nearly took him until he remembered that she'd dared to lay her hope bare before him and was awaiting an answer.

Hector sighed unhappily and moved beneath her, sliding backwards until he sat up against the headboard. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed as he moved - her damp pussy glided over his stiff arousal and he had to fight to tamp down his desire for the time being. Finally she was seated in his lap and he took her chin in his hand, tilting her head until she had no choice but to meet his unwavering gaze.

"Right ye are to be suspicious – there's many a man as bandies about pretty words in the heat of passion, words that prove to be naught but shadow when comes the first light of day. There be no honour in a lie like that, though, and ne'er would I cause ye such pain."

Her voice sounded small and vulnerable when she answered. "So you do...?" Almost afraid she was to say the word itself, and it occurred to him that while she needed to know and might even feel it herself, she simply wasn't ready to speak it aloud.

"Ye can't tell me, 'Lizabeth, that ye didn't suspect I harboured such feelins'," he said quietly, grazing her lower lip with his thumb. "Had no intention, though, of revealin' it to ye yet. Didn't seem fair to be placing a burden of that kind upon ye after so short a time."

She gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "A burden?"

"Aye, because so knowin' might make ye feel obligated to return the sentiment, even if ye don't yet hold that same feelin' it in yer heart. And I'd rather ne'er hear it from ye at all than to listen to ye say the words and know them to be untrue." He cupped her face in both his hands, letting her see in his eyes that he bore no grudge. "Content I be to wait fer ye...I'll win fair maiden yet."

Another tear spilled from her eye and he made a disappointed noise. "Now, none of that," he chided. He leaned close and licked the salty drop away with the tip of his tongue, following the moist track it made over her cheek with a kiss. "Better ways there be to spend the mornin' than this."

Hector took hold of her lush ass and pulled her forward until she was kneeling, her legs on either side of his hips and her perfect breasts before his face. He closed his eyes and bent forward, rubbing his beard across a tender pink bud before pulling at it gently with his lips. As she let out a shivery sigh, she pressed herself closer and he enclosed as much of the sweet plumpness with his mouth as he could.

He slipped a hand around her hip and up over her ribs until he'd found her other breast, kneading it softly until the nipple felt like a pearl against his palm and a moan of need broke from her throat. A surge of heat shot through him at the sound and his cock throbbed where it had curved against his navel.

Shifting his hips, he edged back down against the mattress, embracing her tightly as he once again reclined on the bed. "Take me as ye will," he rasped against her neck. So close she was that he could feel the moist heat from her lovely slit washing over his groin and it made his pulse race. "Let go yer self-control and fuck me, show me yer desire."

He thrilled at the hunger he saw on her face as she sat up, her eyes wild with predatory longing. There was no hesitation, no shaky uncertainty as she reached down between them and took him firmly into her hands. He gasped sharply and closed his eyes, his hips straining up towards her as she stroked him fervently.

"Tell me that you've never been this hard for anyone else," she demanded of him, her voice low and sultry as she pulled her hands slowly up his length and made his toes curl with ecstasy. "Tell me how badly you want me to take you in and squeeze myself around you."

He writhed within her grasp, the feel of her fingers driving his lust. "Ne'er wanted anyone as I want ye," he panted. "Would give all that I have to call ye mine, to take ye hard and have ye clutch me tight within."

Her breath caught in her throat at his words and she mounted him, the wet lips of her sex spreading around him as she took all he had, one agonizingly lingering inch at a time. She grabbed at his arms, her nails digging into him convulsively as she marked him, claiming him body and soul as she sank down upon him. He groaned deeply as she surrounded him completely, the sensation nearly robbing him of his restraint.

Hector Barbossa had been called lover by countless women over the ages. For some he was a dangerous conquest, a legend to be bedded for a night or two of forbidden fantasy. Still others had presumed to know his heart and thought to capture the love of a pirate lord, wanting the benefits of protection and power. As she moved above him, he understood that Elizabeth knew nothing but that she wanted to make him hers alone – her touch was covetous, her eyes eloquent with unspoken promises of forever. Never had he submitted to a woman in such as way; never had he so utterly given himself over to such sweet bonds.

They both stayed still for a heartbeat or two, overwhelmed and trembling. Slowly she began to move, her breath shuddering as she eased him out and then took him back in more quickly, determined to maintain her hold upon him. Her eyes shone as though she was on the hunt, and she snarled as she rose above him once more. He pushed up into her, challenging her and twisting his hips so as to push as far in as he could, meeting her thrust for thrust. His fingers dug into her flanks, spurring her on towards rapture.

Her need for him seemed to flow from her, in each breath and each satiny stroke of her quim. She flung her head back with sheer abandon, her hair flying and her breasts trembling as she began to ride him like a woman possessed. "So much," she grunted huskily as she ground herself against him. "Want you…so much…oh God…"

He could feel his balls drawing up against his body and as the telltale jolts began in his gut, he clenched his teeth as he fought for control. It was too soon, she was chasing her release too quickly. He tried to slow her down, to steady her with his hands around her hips, but she was having no part of it. Close he was to coming, but he'd take no pleasure in completion if she didn't first find hers.

With one hand, he reached around behind her and slid his fingers down the part in her ass, finding the small, tight whorl and circling against it. Her eyes fluttered open in astonishment before she relaxed again and gave herself over to the new sensation, moaning louder yet. When he eased a hand between them and brushed across her swollen clit, she sobbed and shivered violently, her thighs clamping his hips tightly as her pussy clenched to trap him fast. Her orgasm rippled over his cock and he jerked upwards to fill her with his seed, his climax fierce enough that it felt as though his heart would burst from his chest.

She collapsed atop him, her limbs shaking and the sound of her stifled cries filling the room. He smiled against the top of her head, knowing that the noises coming from her had their origins in high emotions rather than low. In the distance, he heard the rumble of thunder and he wrapped her in his arms to keep her safe...to keep her his.

* * *

As always, the weather of Florida turned out to be a mixed blessing. As the storm rolled in, the seas had became rough enough that the crew of the Penzance opted not to attempt a dive, instead calling Elizabeth to inform her of their return to the lab for the day. Although Hector should have been pleased that he'd have her to himself for a few hours longer, the time would not be spent as he'd have chosen. Confrontation was to be the order of the morning and so he found himself reluctantly leaving Elizabeth to her morning activities as he dragged himself out into the unwelcome downpour.

He made his way down the pier, feeling after only a few minutes as though he'd been dredged from the sea bottom and dropped soaking wet on land. The discomfort did little to improve his mood. As he boarded Marilyn's vessel, he saw that John Ansill had caught the night watch. The burly crewman cautiously backed away with the dark look he received as his captain came aboard, but he at last mustered enough courage to give Hector a report.

"She's still stowed below, Cap'n," reassured Ansill, scratching at his shadowy face and trying to hold back a yawn that spoke of his long night. "Rackham said the fight pretty much went outta 'er once they got 'er locked up." He shook his head in sad disbelief. "Can't believe she went 'n done what she done, sir. Guess ye ne'er can tell."

"Did they rip out her radio? Make sure she couldn't get word to anyone?" Hector growled, ducking into the wheel house to get out of the rain. He shook out his hair and smoothed it back out of his face as Ansill followed close on his heels. Puddles formed on the floor beneath them and Hector grimaced, hating the feel of heavy wet denim upon his legs.

"Aye, sir. Morris disabled the engine as well. She's goin' nowhere fast."

"Fair enough. Send o'er yer relief and get yerself a decent meal. I'll be dealin' with this on me own."

Ansill turned but then hesitated. "Cap'n...sir...yer not gonna finish 'er off, are ye?" he asked quietly, wringing nervously at the cuff of his jacket. "I know what the Code says an' all, but Doc's meant an awful lot to everyone here. There must be a way..."

Hector glowered at him a moment, fury flaring briefly at being questioned by one of his crew. The sorrowful look in the crewman's eyes, though, stayed his anger and cooled his temper. He didn't want to see Marilyn die either, much less by his hand. "Code says a lot of things, and well ye know that I'm not averse to breakin' a tenet or two to suit me own purposes. Nay, I'll not take her life, Master Ansill, but know that having her stay amongst us is not an option I'll be considering."

Ansill looked placated and nodded, finally making good his departure. Hector watched the man hunch his shoulders and pull up his collar against the weather before he vanished into the dreary rainstorm. Alone to deal with the issue at hand, he stepped down into the cabin and threw the latch that barred the door, letting it swing open with a slow creak.

The curtains were drawn and none of the lamps had been lit, and so it took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dark. Through the gloom he finally saw Marilyn, looking like a phantom version of herself, merely a greyish shadow in the faint light from one of the portholes. She was still in her nightclothes, her hand extended out the small open window and into the rain and the wind. The stiffening in her stance gave away the fact that she knew he'd entered, but she didn't deign to acknowledge his presence beyond that.

"What am I to do with ye, Doc?" he asked quietly, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded in front of him.

"You alluded to it last night, Captain," she answered in an ethereal whisper. "If I was one of the men and had crossed you, I'd be dead. I'm not interested in asking for forgiveness –kill me now and be done with it."

"And ease yer guilt by makin' it mine?" he scoffed, straightening and taking a step towards her. "Nay, ye can live with yer perfidy and a long life do I wish for ye, far from those who raised and sheltered ye. Alone ye'll be with the thought of what ye did to haunt ye fer the rest of yer days."

She turned her head, angry tears streaking over her worn and weary face. "You won't grant me even that one mercy, after all I've done for you?"

"Yer deceit threatened not only 'Lizabeth, but all of us!" he yelled, his arms coming apart and his fists clenching as the rage and hurt emerged once more. Finally she flinched, perhaps sensing the true depth of his anger. "Did ye truly think we'd be left untouched by the blackguards intent on seizing control of the wreck? That they'd not seek to cut down the lot of us, knowin' that if they did any different, we'd hunt them down and use their guts fer garters?"

Marilyn looked stricken and tugged anxiously on her long pale locks. "I didn't realize...I didn't think about that, not until you came back last night. They'd promised..."

"Too old ye are to be so naive," he sneered, waving off her denial. "Too long have ye lived among pirates to believe that a bargain struck offerin' ye that kind of provision be made of anythin' but ash."

"Okay, maybe I did want to hurt you, too!" she suddenly screamed, whirling around on him with wild eyes. "I've never been more to any of you than a convenient servant, someone to rely on but never really see! You and the others...as long as I do my job and keep quiet, you're happy to have me around. Good ol' Marilyn, always does as asked and never complains...why, she's hardly even a person. Not a true member of your crew, just someone hanging around the edges of your world. Why did it never occur to any of you to ask what it is that I wanted?"

"And what would ye have answered?" he spat unpleasantly, knowing even as he did what she'd say.

Marilyn looked surprised at his question before turning back to the porthole, trying to conceal her humiliation. "I wanted you to love me. That's all. Not her...me."

"We took ye in as a child," he said, his tone softening somewhat. "And so ye've remained in mind's eye, even though yer hair has turned to silver and time has robbed ye of yer youth. Ne'er could I have thought of ye as anythin' else. Hate me fer it if ye will, but even if I hadn't found 'Lizabeth Swann again, I'd not have been able to look at ye in such a way."

She fell silent then as she gazed out at the storm, tears staining her cheeks. The trawler rocked upon the waves and the explosions of thunder punctuated the quiet that ticked by within the tiny room.

"Yes, your precious Elizabeth," she hissed at last, the sorrow in her voice turning to acid. "Do you think that when she is my age, you'll look at her in such a way? The sun will burn wrinkles into her face, too...her hair will turn white, her tits will sag...and then what, Captain?"

She turned and walked slowly towards him, her eyes wide and her grin macabre. "Will you still long for her touch upon your skin when her hands are gnarled and bony? When it's an old woman with death fast on her heels who lies beside you in the night...will your heart remain quite so enamoured?"

It was Hector's turn for surprise, rocked through to his soul by what Marilyn had said. It would be decades before Elizabeth looked to be the same age as he, but could he remain constant in love and loyalty past that? His heart answered a clear and resounding yes...she would be who she was, time or not. Loving her less simply wasn't possible.

"Always..." he muttered, more to himself than Marilyn. But as Elizabeth got old, could he face watching her fade away? Could he handle the inevitable loss, knowing that he would have to continue on without her? His heart felt tight at the previously unexplored thought that such might come to pass.

"Can you say the same for her, then?" Marilyn went on spewing her vitriol, grabbing handfuls of his coat in her withered claws and crowing up into his face with vicious glee. "Will you live a lie until you can no longer deny that your back is as straight and strong as ever, that you don't suffer the aches and pangs of old age, or the loss of agility and vigour? Beautiful as she is now, she'd not be able to bear to have you touch her when her body tires and wears out, and she no longer sees herself as desirable."

Hector stared down at her and a swell of crimson rage swept across his vision. He freed himself from Marilyn's hold and threw her hard against the wall, wrapping one large hand around her neck and slamming her with enough force to elicit a raspy moan of pain from the woman.

"Ye don't love me half so well as ye think, Doc, to say such things and take pleasure in me pain!" he shouted. "Ye pour poison into me ear to try to soothe the ache of yer own heart and to justify yer crime! 'Llizabeth herself once told me how black me heart was, but it's nary so dark as yers."

Almost without a thought he swung his other arm up, ready to slap her across the room. As she cowered before him, though, he stayed his hand and shook his head. No, it was enough of a sentence to send her away for her trespass. He'd not struck a woman in anger since he'd been upon the Isle de la Muerte and had done just that to Elizabeth for deceiving him about her bloodline. Even though he'd done so in that unnatural and desperate state, the injury he'd inflicted upon her then had preyed upon his mind for a long time to follow.

He released his grasp upon Marilyn and let her slide to the floor where she clenched and rubbed at her throat. "Just because what I say is ugly, Hector, doesn't mean it isn't true," she coughed, her watery eyes brimming with hatred.

"Tell yerself what ye like, harridan," he growled. "But think not that ye know me heart or hers."

"You deserve your fate, then," she retorted, curling her arms around her knees and pulling herself into a ball, rocking back and forth. "Go back to her, hide behind the lie and pretend that love will conquer all. I'm living proof of that falsehood."

He turned away, ready to leave but then hesitated. "Now who tries to give life to a lie? Pretend that what ye felt fer me was love if ye wish, but nothin' so putrid or selfish should be allowed to be called such."

Hector had just made it to the door when he heard an unmistakable click, the one that signalled that someone had chambered a round. He slowly turned back around to see Marilyn shakily pointing a small .22 calibre handgun at him. He was angry with himself for the oversight - idiot that he was, he'd not told his men to search her ship for weapons. Never occurred to him that she'd have any or that she'd know how to use one.

"Think on what yer doin', Doc," he warned, taking a careful step back towards her. "Bein' marooned be a far cry preferable to bein' dead...trust someone who'd know. Ye can't kill me with somethin' so small but dead ye'll be afore I even feel the bullet. That I promise ye."

Marilyn gave a frightening laugh and gestured towards him with the gun. "I don't want to kill you, Captain Barbossa. But I am going to give you something that will be hard to explain away."

The sound of the blast was deafening due the close quarters and the hot tear of lead through his thigh brought him to one knee. He roared and grabbed at his leg, looking at her in disbelief as he gritted his teeth against the burning pain.

"Yer dead where ye stand, Marilyn," he gasped, trying to find enough purchase against the wall to stand. The blood on his hands made the wood slick, though, and he slumped back down, sweat breaking out on his brow as throbbing agony spread through his thigh. Any other day and he knew that his men would be rushing to investigate a gunshot, but the chaos of the storm had likely drowned it out.

"You should be careful threatening someone with a gun, don't you think?" she mocked, stepping back and taking aim at him again.

He moved as quickly as his injury would allow, rolling across the floor to grab hold of the hem on her long gown. Hector yanked hard and she lost her balance, shrieking and falling to her rear end with a solid thump. The gun flew from her hand and slid just out of reach, and she scraped her hands against the wood, trying to jerk loose from his hold to crawl after it. Reaching down towards his ankle, Hector scrambled to pull the knife from his boot. It finally came free and with a grunt, he drove it through the loose fabric of Marilyn's gown and into the floorboards, pinning her in place.

He struggled to his feet and holding a hand tightly over his wound, limped across the floor to where the weapon had slid. He opened it up and emptied the chambers, letting the rounds fall to the floor around him. Starting to feel faint from the loss of blood, he slumped down into a chair and panted heavily. She must have hit an artery – otherwise he'd not be bleeding so heavily.

Marilyn shrieked from where she was tacked to the floor, tugging frantically on the handle of the knife in an attempt to free herself. At long last, someone aboveboard heard something of the commotion and he could hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.

"St. Pat's rats! The captain's been hurt! Blood ev'rywhere!" exclaimed ginger-haired Mike Flaherty, the first one through the door.

"Get me somethin' to tie it off, ye stupid sot, or there'll be more upon the floor than in me body!" Hector hollered. True that it was hard to kill one such as he, but a fatal wound was not impossible. He'd be damned, though, if he'd shuffle off the mortal coil after a fight with an old woman.

Galvanized into action, the crewman swiped the bandanna from his head and kneeled over by his captain, knotting the fabric above the seeping wound to staunch the flow. As other crewmen made their way into the cabin and upon the bloody scene, he leaned forward and grabbed hold of Flaherty's collar, pulling him closer. To Hector's utter horror, his hand was shaking and he clenched it tighter, willing it to still.

"Get her locked up now, and find me a scalpel and some surgical dressings," he snarled at Flaherty. Healed fast, he did, courtesy of his near-immortal state of being, but the mending couldn't start until the shot was removed. Would prefer not to have to fix and dress his own wounds, but time was running out along with his life blood.

"Doc! Heads up, she's got the knife!" yelled one of the men and everyone turned. Marilyn must have kicked it free somehow, Hector decided; his strength had to have been waning already when he stabbed it into the wood; elseways she'd never have been able to move it.

"Keep the hell away from me, all of you!" she screeched, whipping the knife around in front of her as the crew advanced slowly. Her chest heaved and her eyes bulged out of her head with fear. The men stopped where they were, but one by one started to draw weapons.

"Stand down," Hector told his men, wincing at the spasms in his thigh. It was taking more effort than he could sustain to keep a coherent thought in his head. "There be nowhere she can go that we can't find her."

Marilyn's frantic gaze returned to his, her expression morphing from terror to hatred, and then to a pathetic entreaty within a few moments. "Please...I don't want to leave. You're all I ever had..."

As he looked upon her, a memory surfaced of Marilyn as a young girl, smiling down at him from the riggings, pushing her fly-away hair up under her hat as she tied down a sail. Happy she'd been to have a family, even one so unconventional as that they offered. Shaking his head, he pushed the vision to the side, knowing he couldn't let what she had meant to him – to all of them – sway him in his duty.

"Perhaps that should have been top o' mind when ye made a deal with yer accomplices," he said, his spirit laid low. "There be no coming back from what ye did. Give o'er the knife, Doc, and it'll be exile instead of death as was promised."

The last hope faded from her eyes and was replaced with cold loathing. "There's a world of hurt coming for all of you. I'll die, but at least I know that the Blackhearts are finished and Elizabeth Swann along with them."

Before they could grab it away, Marilyn clenched Hector's dagger tightly in both hands and thrust it to the very hilt into her chest, arching her back and screaming out against the steely intrusion. Blood spurted from where the blade was buried in her body and splattered across the floor, mixing with the blood that had already spilled from Hector's leg. She went into jerky spasms in front of them before finally stilling and slumping into a tangled heap. By the time Hector stumbled over to her and lifted her up, the gurgling rattle of her wet breath was already giving testament to the end of her life.

A cold ache filled Hector's chest and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the heartbreak. Marilyn's slight and lifeless body lay limp in his arms, her eyes staring sightless and empty. "When I find them as caused us this anguish," he swore, shuddering as more pain moved through his leg and his vision became dimmer, "I'll be cutting out their spleens with the very same knife, mark me words."

He carefully laid her down upon the boards, moving his palm over her face to close her eyes. At that point, Marilyn's ship seemed to tilt to starboard and he slowly tumbled over on his side, his cheek resting against the sticky wet floorboards.

"Captain, stay with us now! Ye two, there...help me get him back to his ship! We'll deal with him there!" ordered Flaherty, kneeling beside him with a tight hand on Hector's shoulder.

"No..." Hector protested weakly. "'Lizabeth is not to see this...won't have it..."

"Not another word, sir. Come on, ye slack-jawed idiots...step lively!"

The sounds started to mix together and it became impossible for Hector to discern whose voice was whose. Never listened when they needed to, this bunch. He just needed a rest, was all...he'd be fine with a rest. With that final thought, the grey mists moved in and the others disappeared entirely.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Beth smelled it long before she saw it...blood, the scent of it so strong that a metallic taste coated the inside of her mouth. The state of grimly controlled panic among Hector's men and the red trail they left in their wake as they brought him down into the galley of his ship told her something had gone terribly wrong.

"What happened? Hector!" She reached out to try and touch him but they pushed past her, nearly knocking her into the wall.

"He can't 'ear ye, miss," answered a red-haired man trailing behind. "Got shot, he did. Passed out from loss o' blood."

Beth whirled on him. "Shot? By whom?"

He stopped and looked down at her, frustration on his face. "Not the time fer talk, is it? Ye gonna help us or ye goin' ta natter on and let 'im bleed all o'er 'is bloomin' boat?"

Her mouth gaped for a moment before she pulled herself together. "I'll get on the phone and call 9-1-1! They'll send out an air ambulance for him!"

She turned to run but the man grabbed her roughly by the upper arm and she jolted to a jarring halt. He shook his head vehemently, gripping her tightly. "He'd ne'er allow it. Look after our own, we do."

She glared at him. "What, you think he'd rather die that end up having to explain to the ER docs what happened? Are you insane?!"

"A standin' order, it be. He'd tell ye the same were he so able."

Beth was tempted to continue arguing but from the look on his face, she knew that his resolve was unwavering and precious time was wasting. "Fine, then. Bring him over to the table," she ordered, tugging her arm free and pushing her way through the throng to get a better look. They carefully laid him out on the long oak slab and she caught his head in the cradle of her hands before it hit the wood, instantly alarmed at the lack of colour in his face. Worse, though, was the stain that had turned the leg of his blue jeans crimson.

"I have first aid certification, but that's not going to be enough here. I need someone with more extensive medical training. One of you go and see if maybe Marilyn will come..." her voice trailed off as the men looked at one another darkly.

"Who'd ye think did this?" came an angry voice from amongst the group. "We've naught but ourselves to take care of the cap'n."

"Okay, okay," she said, her voice quavering. No time to think about it now. She gently laid Hector's head down on the table and scrubbed her hands over her face. Her heart was pounding and she felt nauseous. "Let me think. I need to see the damage...give me something to cut through his jeans."

Almost before she'd finished putting voice to her request, there were four daggers of various, rather menacing lengths being passed towards her. She grabbed the nearest and holding the cuff of his pant leg, sliced up the outside of the garment until she reached the tourniquet. Not daring to remove it lest he bleed out, she delicately sliced around until she had the denim cut off and his leg beneath the bandana laid bare.

Shadows fell over her and Beth turned to see the men pressed up around her, trying to get a look at what she was doing. The very last thing she needed was an audience. "I need everyone except you..." she said, pointing at the man she'd spoken to on his way in, "...to clear out. Call one of your men back at the warehouse and tell him to bring Jen out here. Go! Hurry!" Reluctantly, the men began to leave, looking worriedly back at their leader. Jen, she hoped, would be able to help...she'd had medical training as a corpsman with the Navy that would far surpass Beth's skills.

"Brought some supplies, miss," said another Blackheart...Morris, if she remembered the name correctly. He put down a handful of gauze, instruments, packing cotton and a bottle of codeine onto the table by Hector's head. "Pulled them from Doc's store. Captain asked fer stuff before he went down. Might come in handy."

"Yes, okay. Thank you..." she said distractedly, wiping away the blood from Hector's leg with her hand. She could see it now, a clean and perfectly round puncture half way up his thigh. From the angle, it looked as though it had gone straight in towards the bone. Her stomach clenched at the thought that the shot might be lodged in his femur…she hoped that Jen would arrive quickly, she just wasn't prepared to deal with something so severe.

She looked up into the face of the red head. "Mister...what's your name?'

"Flaherty, miss," he answered, tugging on his forelock in a gesture of bygone formality. "Mike Flaherty."

"Mike, then...get some blankets from the captain's stateroom and cover him quickly. He's going to go into shock soon." Flaherty ran off and Beth resumed probing at the dark, bloody hole in Hector's swollen thigh. As she touched it, he groaned and stirred, the pain obviously pulling him from the reprieve of unconsciousness.

"Shhh, Hector. Lay still, you'll make it worse," she said, smoothing her hand over his forehead, trying to calm him.

"Ye must remove the bullet, 'Lizabeth," he moaned, his eyes clenched shut against the torment of his injury. "Bleedin' won't stop 'til the slug be gone."

She shook her head. "Absolutely not. I'm not equipped to deal with anything like this. I won't dig around looking for a little piece of lead - God knows what other damage I'd do. Help is on the way, it'll be okay. We'll get you stabilized and then to a hospital."

He grabbed at her hand, squeezing tightly enough that she winced in pain, and he stared up at her with eyes that were fraught with anguish. "Can't wait fer help and sure as hell can't be goin' to the hospital. Get one of me men to do it, if need be, but it must be done now."

"Don't be ridiculous," Beth argued, her pulse thudding with fear. "This kind of trauma needs a transfusion and surgery. If we don't get you to an emergency room, you're going to bleed to death. You're already weak; don't think for a second that I'll let you to take stupid chances with your life."

Flaherty had returned with the blankets but when he tried to spread them over top of his captain, Hector angrily pushed them away and tried to sit up, causing fresh blood to spill from the wound. "Master Flaherty," he gasped out, his fists clenching in both rage and pain. "Remove Miss Swann from the galley and confine her to me stateroom. I haven't the time to debate me orders."

"No!" Beth yelled as Flaherty gently took her elbow. "Get off of me!" She twisted out of the man's hold and flourishing the knife, gave him a look that warned of serious physical harm should he try again. "Hector, I won't allow someone to slice into you like a butcher!"

"If yer not goin' to do it, either of ye, gimme the cursed knife and I'll cut it out meself!" Hector roared, his eyes wild and his teeth bared at them as he held out his trembling hand towards her.

"No! No...I'll do it, okay?" Beth said, trying not to cry in sheer exasperation. It would be far worse to watch him try to do it himself or to trust him to someone with no medical training at all. "Lie back, then, and let me work."

Flaherty looked at her dubiously but Hector's face relaxed. "Leave her be, man. Ye can do this, 'Lizabeth," he groaned pleadingly, bracing himself by grabbing the edge of the table with both hands. "I promise ye I'll be fine once it's out."

"It's going to hurt," she said with shaky trepidation, moving her palm beneath his leg to steady it for the incision. The blood slid from her hands in clots, squelching in her fingers, and she had to swallow hard not to gag at both the feel and the smell of it.

"Already hurts," he answered, his voice fading once again. "Get on with it. Can't be any worse than 'tis now."

Beth tightened her grip on his leg and steeled herself against the horror of cutting into living flesh as tears began to run down her cheeks. That was when she felt it, a hard little bump under his skin that slid against her palm. Her heart skipped a little...maybe crude exploratory surgery wouldn't be necessary after all.

"I feel something on the back of your leg. The bullet must have glanced off the bone. Roll over on your side, just a little. Mike – help him, please."

Flaherty grabbed hold of his captain's shoulder and pulled him over so he was resting on his hip. Hector wrapped his hand around his crewman's forearm tightly enough that his knuckles were white, but both men remained stoic and silent.

Beth leaned down and ran her hands over his flank, finding the lump once more. Taking a deep breath, she slowly sunk the tip of the dagger through Hector's skin and felt it hit something solid. Cutting a small slit over top of the swelling, she turned the tip of the knife and more from feel than sight, began to draw the clump of lead closer to the surface.

Hector uttered not a sound, but the muscles in his leg jerked and more blood flowed from the new puncture site as she pushed in. She rubbed her wrist across her eyes, clearing away the tears so she could see properly as she went. Both the hilt of her rudimentary scalpel and her fingers became slick with blood, and she finally abandoned the knife, letting it drop to the floor beside her. Instead, she dug in and found the edge of the distorted bullet with her long fingernails. Beth tugged at it, flinching as pain-filled curses finally spilled from Hector's lips to meet her efforts. With one final sucking gouge it popped free and the misshapen clump tumbled against the table with a faintly tinny sound.

Almost immediately, the blood slowed to a trickle and Hector's limbs went slack with relief. She tentatively untied the knot of the blood-soaked bandana and was reassured to see that there was no sudden surge in the flow from the incision.

A thousand thoughts swirled through Beth's brain as she grabbed a roll of gauze and started wrapping it tightly around his thigh…she should have sterilized the blade, she should have washed the wound with clean water, she should have given him the codeine before she rummaged around for the bullet…should have waited for Jenn…should have tried to stitch the skin closed. Her gorge began to rise and her head spun.

She suddenly abandoned her efforts and ran to the head, heedless of the way her t-shirt flapped around her thighs and exposed her to anyone who cared enough to look. Collapsing on her knees in front of the toilet, Beth heaved up the contents of her stomach into the bowl as the reality of what happened caught up with her.

Staggering to her feet, she struck by the starkness of her bloody prints against the white porcelain rim. She'd held Hector's life in her hands and might still lose him – who knew how much harm she might have wrought? The galley wasn't exactly an operating theatre and the risk of infection had to be unbelievably high. What had she been thinking? But he hadn't really given her a choice and the truth was that in the end, she was incapable of refusing him anything. She just prayed that the decision didn't cost both of them dearly.

The nightmare that had begun with the discovery of the wreck was quickly spiralling out of control, and she hated the feeling of helplessness that surrounded her. She'd brought chaos to her life and to Hector's, and all for the sake of whatever trash or treasure was hidden in the remains at the bottom of the Gulf. Very little about the retrieval operation seemed to matter now, certainly not in light of what had very nearly been taken from her. A sudden burning rush of anger had Beth wanting the old woman dead for daring to attack the man that she…

Beth inhaled deeply and turned on the cold water tap in the sink, hastily scrubbing the gore as best she could from her hands and arms. Looking in the mirror and dabbing away the blood that had been smeared across her cheeks and nose, she saw that her face was drawn and pale. She had to pull herself together and get back to Hector, needed to make sure he was being cared for properly. Quickly she rinsed her mouth with water and gave her teeth a quick brush to rid herself of the putrid taste on her tongue.

Almost as an afterthought, she stopped and grabbed Hector's drawstring pants from the floor where they'd been discarded the night prior...best not to put on another free show for Flaherty, even if the trousers were a good six inches too long when she pulled them on. She hurried back to the galley, sighing with tremulous relief to see that Jen had arrived and was bent over the table, her wet blonde ponytail bobbing as she peeled back the gauze to take a look at Hector's leg.

Jen frowned when she straightened up again, startling a bit when she noticed Beth standing beside her. "Is he going to be okay?" asked Beth, running a hand over Hector's bare calf. She needed to touch him, needed to make sure he really was alright despite her meagre medical efforts. He gazed back at her with weary blue eyes, trying to reassure her with a slight smile.

"When did this happen?" asked Jen, ignoring Beth's question and pulling a blood pressure cuff from an emergency medical bag they usually stowed on the _Penzance_. She wrapped it around Hector's arm and rapidly squeezed the little air pump as they talked.

"About an hour ago…is that right, Mike?" She looked to him for confirmation and he nodded.

Jen's face registered shock at the answer, and she shook her head in disbelief when she read the pressure gauge. "How close was the gun when it was fired?" she went on, stripping off the cuff and then picking up Hector's wrist so she could check his pulse.

"Ten feet," he said guardedly, his voice hoarse. "Perhaps a bit less."

Jen let go of Hector's arm and stood regarding at him critically for a moment. Suddenly she turned and caught Beth's arm, pulling her along as she walked away from the table. "We need to talk," she murmured to Beth in a low voice. The words caused panic to spike sharply in Beth's chest. Maybe he was in even worse shape than she'd thought.

"Okay, just give me a minute," said Beth, gently separating herself from the sombre-looking woman to return to Hector's side.  
She slid her hand into his and he squeezed her fingers gently in response. His colour was certainly better and she chose to take it as a good sign. Only a small amount of blood had leaked through the bandages on his leg and his body was no longer rigid with pain.

"How are you doing?" she asked quietly, very much aware that both Mike and Jen were watching them intently. She glared pointedly at them and both had the good graces to look abashed before they moved off. Beth looked back down at Hector and felt a lump forming in her throat.

"Don't be getting' yerself worked up again," he chastised gruffly, the look in his eyes far warmer than his words. "Weren't so terrible a thing as we thought. Already stopped bleedin'. " He pulled on her hand, bringing her down close enough for his lips to brush her cheek. "Ye saved me life, girl," he whispered against her skin. "Me own angel, ye be."

"It seemed only polite; after all, you did the same for me," Beth teased sadly as she rested her forehead against his. "Hector…where is Marilyn?"

A shadow seemed to move over his face and for a moment, he looked far older than his years. "Took 'er own life."

"If she hadn't," Beth whispered fiercely, gripping his hand more tightly as her cheeks flushed hot, "I'd have killed her myself for what she did."

Something sparked deep in his eyes, an acknowledgement of what she was really saying. She desperately wanted to kiss him then and likely would have if Jen hadn't hissed at her impatiently, reminding them that there were still other people close by.

"Beth! _Now_!"

Beth gave her a cold sideways glance and then looked back at Hector. She didn't want to leave him alone but Jen was starting to fidget, she was so anxious to talk. "I'll be right back," she promised. He nodded and closed his eyes, letting her go. Her hand felt empty without his as she walked over to where Jen waited for her.

"Come on, then." Beth beckoned Jen to follow her and they made their way to the deckhouse.

Rain still splattered against the windows of the little room and there was no end to the sheet of dark clouds outside. Beth dropped down onto one of the benches next to the table still covered in Hector's navigational charts, running her hands back through her hair with a heavy sigh. It took her a moment to realize that Jen had not joined her, but had instead chosen to stand over her with a stern look on her brow and with her arms crossed tightly in front of her. The attitude pissed Beth off immediately – it had been many years since she'd felt the need for a mother and she certainly wasn't looking for a substitute in Jen Lowrey.

"You're into some weird shit here, Beth Swann," Jen blurted abruptly.

Beth laughed bitterly. "Believe me, I know. Is there more to your lecture or is that the extent of the public service announcement from the Department of the Obvious?"

From her expression, Beth could tell that it had it finally occurred to Jen that she was very close to crossing a line with her employer. She unhooked her arms and instead bit nervously at a fingernail, looking at Beth as if considering how best to approach her. "I'm sorry...I had no right to speak to you that way. But I'm just a little freaked out here."

Beth was normally a very patient person when it came to those who worked for her, but Jen's cryptic behaviour was getting on her already frayed nerves. "You need to get to the point here, Jen. With Hector hurt..."

Jen's eyes widened and she sat down suddenly, leaning forward over the table towards Beth. "That's just it, though. He's not very hurt, at least not anymore."

Beth narrowed her eyes at her. "What the hell are you talking about? I just got done digging a bullet out of someone's leg with a knife and let me tell you, he looked pretty damned messed up to me!"

That stopped Jen cold. "You just got done doing _what?_"

Beth related the story so far as she knew it, timeline and all. She skipped the part about Marilyn killing herself, though. That mess was a tough enough thing to get her head around, never mind trying to explain it to someone else.

Jen rubbed at her temple, shaking her head as Beth finished telling her about the incident. "If it was anyone else, Beth, I'd think I was being fed some kind of line. But the truth is this – the wound that I just looked at is several days old."

Beth's head snapped up. "You're wrong," she said, bewildered. "You saw the blood for yourself...it's all over the place! His men brought him over right after it happened!"

Jen held her palms up in front of her. "Whoa, don't kill the messenger here, boss. I'm just telling you what I saw. Humour me for a minute and I'll explain myself, okay?"

"You're welcome to try," said Beth, wondering what on earth Jen might have been smoking that to have her so clearly delusional.

"Okay, from the amount of blood on the stairs and table, it looks like it was a femoral artery that was hit. Whether the calibre of the weapon was small or large – and in this case, the entry wound didn't look big – if it hits an artery, the victim is in big trouble. Usually you'd have only ten minutes to get them emergency medical attention before it would be too late."

"It must not have been an artery, then..." Beth started to insist, but Jen motioned for her to stop.

"Let me finish and then you can resume jumping all over me for giving a crap, alright?" she said testily.

It was Beth's turn to feel sheepish. "I'm sorry. Go ahead."

"Let's assume it wasn't an artery, if you like. Even so, any foreign object travelling through the body at that velocity and fired from so close is going to cause significant tissue damage. Swelling, pain and eventually deep bruising would result. The loss of blood causes pressure to drop and pulse to speed up. And just between you and me, playing doctor and plunging a knife into mutilated muscle is usually contraindicated. If nothing else, it would cause more bleeding and maybe even nerve damage."

Beth was scared now. She should have listened to her head and insisted on calling emergency. "I didn't know...but when the bullet came out, the bleeding almost stopped. And he isn't in so much pain anymore."

"I believe you...I saw the dressing you put on. I also saw what was underneath it when I came in." Jen's eyes weren't so much analytical as puzzled now.

"Tell me," Beth said apprehensively.

"Beth," said Jen, taking her hand. "There is bruising on his leg that shouldn't be there for a couple of days. The swelling is almost gone, his blood pressure is perfectly normal and his pulse is strong and steady. And the entrance wound itself is dark and pitted, but it's barely leaking either fluid or blood. Like I told you, it looks as though it's been healing for a few days already."

Beth grimaced wryly and pulled her hand away. "That makes no sense. It just happened."

"I can't explain it, but at this rate he'll be up and walking on it after one or two days instead of the two weeks it would take someone else. I've never heard of hyper-accelerated healing like this. So far as I know, it simply isn't possible. It's like something out of legend."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about this," Beth said slowly. "Shouldn't I be glad that he has some kind of heightened immune system that kept him going?"

Jen shrugged. "I don't know what it means. I was sure when I got here that he was running some kind of con on you, but you saw the injury for yourself and that's pretty damned hard to fake."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Beth tried to decide if she was frightened or not. It was perplexing, that was certain, but it wasn't sinister. She watched the second hand on the wall clock circle the face slowly, her mind searching for possible explanations. Maybe she should just be grateful that for whatever reason, Hector hadn't been injured as badly as it first appeared. And that he wouldn't need weeks to get better.

"Not to change the subject or anything," Jen finally said quietly, "but what is it with you and this guy?"

The directness of the words startled her and Beth felt her cheeks turning red. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh please!" Jen huffed, rolling her eyes. "The way you two were touching one another, the soft and intimate conversation, the way you looked at him...people only act that way about someone they've...you know..."

Beth stood and glared down at the other woman. "I can't see how that's any of your business, Jen. And we're not good enough friends for you to be asking those kinds of questions about my personal life, one way or the other."

Jen gasped in understanding. "Oh my God! It's not just a physical thing, is it? You love him!"

Beth's mouth fell open for a moment before she snapped it shut, wheeling and stalking away. She wasn't comfortable sharing intimate details with another woman, even one she'd known for a couple of years. In fact, Beth never had felt entirely secure with female companionship, likely the result of having grown up in the almost exclusive company of men. Besides, it felt wrong to impart something so personal, to confirm her feelings to Jen before she had even told Hector. It just wouldn't be fair, not after he'd opened his heart to her.

"Beth! Hey, I'm sorry...I didn't mean to upset you. Come on..."

Jen's voice faded as Beth rushed through the hall and back towards to the galley. As badly as she'd wanted Jen to come and help, all she wanted now was for her to leave. Her presence was an intrusion that Beth couldn't face right now. She had to focus on Hector.

He needed to be somewhere restful where she could tend to him; leaving him lying on the table in the dining area like a slab of meat was totally unacceptable. If what Jen had told her about his condition was true, he could certainly be moved to more comfortable quarters.

"You! Flaherty!" she barked as she stormed through the door, pointing her finger at the man still keeping a steadfast vigil at his captain's side.

"Aye, miss!" Mike snapped to attention. Hector gingerly eased himself up on one elbow, looking between his man and Beth with bemusement.

"The captain needs to be moved," she said, her hands going to her hips. "I want you to get a couple of the other men so we can get him into his stateroom without hurting him any worse. Now. Please," she belatedly added.

"Get right on it," he answered briskly, zipping up his jacket against the storm. "Anythin' else?"

Jen stepped into the room, her expression downcast. "Can you also please tell Mr. Pintel that I'm ready to return to shore?" she asked with a subdued tone. "I think I can be of more use elsewhere."

Before leaving, the man looked at Hector, who indicated his approval with a nod. Once Mike had gone, an awkward silence filled the room. "Perhaps I'll go back and wait in the deckhouse," said Jen, gathering up the emergency supplies into the black satchel she'd brought. "Do you want me to let Tony know what has happened?"

"That's okay," said Beth, starting to feel bad about the way she'd shouted at Jen. "I'll give him a call myself later. You can tell him, though, that he doesn't have to wait for me. If the weather clears, you should resume the recovery efforts."

She stepped a bit closer and reached out to touch Jen's shoulder. "Please be careful. If anything unusual or suspicious happens, I want you all out of there. There's nothing in that ship worth getting hurt over. Do you understand?"

Jen searched her face and gave her a forgiving smile. "Don't worry about us; we'll be fine. We've a floating biker armada protecting us, remember?"

"Thank you for coming out so quickly, and especially in this weather." Beth was glad that they were able to smooth things out, but she still very much wanted Jen off the ship and back to the warehouse.

"If you can think of anything you need, give us a call," Jen said, pulling on her rain gear just as Pintel hollered down the stairs at them.

"Hey! Tell the yella haired dolly bird that I'm ready ta go!"

Jen laughed. "It would appear that my transport has arrived. See you later, Beth. Take good care of your man, okay?" She tripped up the stairs and the door leading out to the deck slammed shut behind her. Finally alone, Beth sighed with relief.

She grabbed up one of the blankets that Mike had brought earlier, rolling it into a makeshift pillow. Hector watched her walk towards him, raising an eyebrow at her. "Yer man? Is that how I'm to be known now?"

She slid the blanket onto the table and he lowered his head upon it. "Do you object to the title?" she asked, casting an eye over the smears of blood that covered the stairs, the furniture and Hector himself. It was a terrifying sight and yet here he was with her, despite it all.

"Wonderin', I was, if I had any title left at all. Watchin' ye give orders caused me think that perhaps you'd turned mutineer and taken o'er," he replied with a wink.

"You needn't worry about that, my Captain," she said with a grin, drawing strands of damp hair away from his face. "I saw it as more of a first mate role, keeping things going while you were otherwise occupied. Every captain needs a mate, right?"

"Jus' so long as ye remember yer place," he said archly, leaning further back into the blanket and closing his eyes again. "Might have to resort to discipline to remind ye from time to time."

"Promises, promises," she whispered, leaning down to press her cheek to his forehead. Her bottom lip quivered slightly and she bit it, determined not to go to pieces in front of him. Although the fact that his sense of humour had returned was reassuring, the incident had doubtlessly drained him, and Beth looked impatiently at the clock, wondering what was keeping Mike and the others.

She straightened, looking down at his injured thigh. It was tempting for a moment to see if what Jenn had said about the wound was true. The steps she heard aboveboard, though, told her that Hector's men had replied to her summons. Time enough for untangling the mystery later; for now, she was content to play nursemaid and get him cleaned up so he could rest and recover.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Frustration wasn't a word as could do justice to the edgy sense of impatience Hector experienced by the third day of his recovery. Only Elizabeth dared darken the doorway to his stateroom anymore and even she had grown wary in the shadow of his stormy mood.

Although still tender, the bullet hole on his leg had healed over and the ugly black and purple bruises were beginning to fade to yellow. He should have been pleased but instead everything seemed to set him off. Whether it was the fact that he'd regained his limp or that Elizabeth had taken to sleeping in the guest cabin with the excuse that he needed his rest, every real or perceived slight only served to add to his unease.

The fact was that during Hector's idle time aboard his ship, he'd had entirely too many hours to think and some of what Marilyn had uttered that last fateful day had begun to prey upon his mind. As offended as he'd been at her intimations, what truly enraged him was that there was likely a sliver of truth in some of what she'd said.

Already he'd kept too much from Elizabeth, even though she'd shown her faith in him and hadn't asked more than he claimed he was able to give her. He knew, though, that as powerful as the bond between them had grown, she'd be all the more devastated when she learned the veracity of things. Perhaps her suspicions had already been roused – her reluctance to share his bed since the shooting could be seen as a signal that she'd already begun to pull away.

Rarely had Hector lived in anything but the moment; being pirate had made any other way seem folly. Even after the visit to the fountain, the habit had remained unchanged – it had suited him, suited his purposes. But now that he had found Elizabeth and had for all but the sake of a few words made her his, the thought of living for the day alone no longer appealed. Unless she knew who he really was, though, and shared the truth of their history, what chance did he have for a future, long or short though it may be?

Centuries before, he'd not been concerned about maintaining a façade . That wasn't to say he couldn't lie with the best of them if the situation so called for it, but he'd prided himself on a pirate's sense of honour and saw himself as a man of his word. He cared not for what the world thought of him, whether damned or saved, and he saw no point in pretending otherwise. But people of modern times lacked the capacity for suspending disbelief, and so he and his men had to take that naïveté about the supernatural into account in all their dealings. He had tired of the masquerade even as he knew it was unavoidable. He simply didn't want to hide his true self from Elizabeth any longer.

Although the day was new, he'd woken into a state of ill humour over it all. He was wrapping fresh dressings around his leg – all part of the deception, which made him even more cross – when Elizabeth chose that unfortunate moment to bring in his morning meal. He scowled at her over his shoulder. "Didn't ask fer food, did I?" he sneered crassly. "Take it away."

The tray crashed against the wall to his right, the juice glass shattering and sending shards tinkling over both him and the wood flooring. Hector jerked his head up in shock and anger, ready to launch into a tirade about the mess when she came closer and drove her palms into his chest, causing him to stumble and fall back against the door to the head.

"I've had about all the crap I'm going to take from you, Hector Barbossa!" she shouted, her hands settling on her hips. "You take that tone of voice with me again and I swear to God, I'll shoot you myself to end both your misery and mine!"

His dander rose further as he rubbed through his t-shirt at where she'd hit him. Damned if she hadn't actually bruised him, tiny thing though she was! "Weary I've grown of being treated like some drooling codger!" he hollered back. "I'll not tolerate it!"

She moved over to where he stood, her hands bunched tightly at her side and her countenance dark. "_You'll_ not tolerate it?! Do you have any idea what you've put me through over the last three days? You've done nothing but snap and snarl, and I'm sick of it! It's time for you to quit this morose macho bullshit and admit to me why you're acting this way!"

Her rebuke pushed his temper to the boiling point. Hector suddenly grabbed her by her shoulders and pulled her hard against him. "Ye best be rememberin' who it is yer talkin' to, missy!" he roared, glaring fiercely down at her.

Elizabeth forcefully slapped his arms away and in turn clutched fistfuls of his t-shirt in her hands, angry tears glistening unshed in her eyes. Just as the appalling nature of his behaviour began to dawn on him and his heart was struck with the first pangs of regret, she tugged him roughly towards her and kissed him hard.

His eyes widened briefly in surprise before the tension slowly drained from his shoulders and his arms came up around her. Groaning deeply, he lost himself in the velvety softness of her mouth and the honeyed caress of her tongue. Heat flared within him, but this time in ardour rather than anger as she sought to drive him mad with a needful touch and ready lips.

Her breath was short when she pulled back and her tongue flicked out to taste the traces of him on her lips. The wounded look in her eyes remained, though, and he knew then that while the kiss might have freed him from the fit of pique in which he'd been mired, the hurt caused by his callousness remained.

She dropped her gaze and tried to get away, but Hector gently tightened his embrace and drew her back to him, holding on until she finally settled her head against his chest. Whether she did so in resignation or out of a need for comfort he knew not, but it was enough for now to have her close enough to hear what he had to say.

"Fool I was to speak to ye so unkindly" he murmured against her soft hair. "I had no cause to treat ye in such a way. Bein' caged has frayed me nerves."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I wish I could believe it was just cabin fever. Whether you're willing to say it or not, though, we both know there's more to it than that."

What she said wasn't wrong but to have his apology called into question still rankled. "Have ye a theory of yer own or are ye callin' me liar out of spite?"

She looked up at him sadly. "I believe you're trying not to hurt me by keeping your real feelings to yourself. I've been giving it a lot of thought after these last few days, though, and...well, I think that on some level, you blame me for dragging you into this situation in the first place. And you'd be right to do so."

He couldn't have been more surprised had she sprouted wings and attempted flight. Hector held her out at arm's length, ducking to look into her eyes so she could read the sincerity of his words on his face.

"Ne'er once did I think to point a finger at ye, 'Lizabeth! There be forces movin' against us that put that plot in motion. Ye can't be takin' that upon yerself."

Elizabeth pulled away, shrugging off his hands as though she could no longer bear his touch. She sat down on the far edge of his bed, her lips set in a severe line and her eyes avoiding his. "Except for me, Marilyn would never have betrayed your crew. Except for me, she wouldn't have tried to kill you and she certainly wouldn't have killed herself..."

He watched her with stymied incredulity as she choked up, the words getting caught in her throat for a moment before she was able to go on. "It would have been better for everyone if you'd just dumped me at an emergency room after you'd saved me and left me to deal with this mess on my own. You can't deny that…"

Her certainty brought a new flush of anger. Hector descended on her, grabbing her roughly by her arms and giving her a solid shake that caused her eyes to grow bigger in alarm.

"I'll not have ye speak that way! If ye truly believe such things, ye render meaningless all that's followed since that night." He pushed her away forcibly, breathing harshly as he let loose his rage. "If ye regret what's happened between us – if ye wish now that ye'd not made the choices ye did – then show the courage of yer heart and say it plain, and don't seek to use yer simperin' self-pity as an excuse to turn yer back upon me!"

Her shock at his fury lasted the time it took her to take to her feet and find her voice again. "Oh no, you don't!" she hissed, advancing on him until she was glaring up into his face. "You have NO right to be angry with me! I never said I wanted out nor that I regretted a single thing I've done when it comes to you. But if this…this seething resentment you've been raining down on me isn't about the curse that seems to be following me…"

He laughed unpleasantly. "Curse? Ye know nothing of such, girl. Don't ye dare be brandishin' a term ye can't possibly understand."

"Now you argue _semantics_? Enough already! Show that same courage you demand of me, Hector," she said, her chin raised towards him with unrepressed insolence. "Why are you so upset? What have I done to deserve your contempt? If you care about what we have…" Elizabeth's voice softened and she swallowed hard, "...if you really feel the way you claim you do, then please tell me why. I can't go on waiting on tenterhooks for the next outburst."

The heat of his temper faded with her plea. Hector let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes for a moment's respite before slumping down onto the bed. He owed her at least some of the truth – wanted, in fact, to give it to her – but where to begin? And once he'd let loose control of the same, where would it end? He'd let himself go too far now to turn back.

"Ye not be the one at fault here, lass," he said wearily. "And I swear on me life, I've not the foggiest notion how best to explain conduct as unbecoming as mine. Wouldn't fault ye fer walkin' out now and in so doin', save yerself the trouble of tryin' to make sense of it all."

She sat down beside him and took his hand, weaving her fingers through his. "I'm not going anywhere. Take your time. It'll be okay, I promise. Whatever you have to say, I'll listen."

He tightened his grip, wanting to imprint the warm, tingly sensation of her touch into his mind forever just in case he botched it all in the telling.

Hector took in the expectancy upon her face and second thoughts fogged the clarity of his purpose. As much as he wanted to let go his pretence, it would be less taxing to go head to head against Davy Jones' Kraken than to bare his soul to Elizabeth Swann. In fact, he found himself halfway wishing that some great beast would emerge roaring from the sea to disrupt the scene, but alas! Most such mythical creatures had long ceased to roam the oceans of the world, another casualty of the age of knowledge. Nay, there'd be no such dubious salvation for Hector Barbossa.

"Ye believe that ye bear some guilt o'er Marilyn's attack," he began. "Truth be, 'Lizabeth, that ne'er did she intend to kill me when she fired that pistol. T'was purely by chance the shot nearly did me in."

"She didn't mean to hurt you?" Elizabeth asked, clearly puzzled.

He barked out a wry laugh. "Wouldn't go far as to claim that. But no, murder was not her goal. She did what she did so's you'd come to know somethin' of me ye'd not known before. A secret, if ye like. And in so knowin', I'd be forced to reveal some of me more...unusual...traits. T'was her hope that in so doin', yer faith in me would be shaken and she'd succeed in drivin' ye off."

Her face cleared as understanding dawned. "Oh…the whole super-fast healing thing, you mean."

"Ye knew?" he asked, stunned yet again, not just by her acuity but by how unfazed she seemed in her awareness. "How? I ne'er did let ye see...that is, I changed me own dressins'..."

"Your wound had already started to mend by the time Jen got here. That's what she wanted to talk to me about when we left you alone for a time – she thought you were working some kind of con. Is that what this was all about? You were worried that I would find out and, what? Run screaming into the night because you were recovering more quickly than I could ever have hoped?"

"Ye don't find it strange, woman, that an injury that would have killed any other only slowed me step fer a handful of days?" he pushed, not quite willing to believe she'd take his rapid improvement with such nonchalance. The look of relief on her face might even have given him some reassurance if there wasn't so much more she didn't know.

"Strange? Well, let's see, where shall I begin? Over the last two weeks, I was attacked and nearly killed by some nefarious stranger who threatened me over a sunken wreck that appears to be of only archaeological value," Elizabeth intoned, holding up a finger to begin her count of such incidents. "I've had a fearsome yet gallant biker lord appear to rescue me, summoned by some mysterious woman who was precognizant as to the danger I faced. Oh wait! And I was led to a pristine relic that shouldn't exist by a bunch of ghost crabs that were, by all accounts, invisible to anyone but me. So the fact that you heal more quickly than most normal people...I'm afraid that hardly registers."

She got to her feet and stood before him again, a frown creasing her pretty face. "What I'm really finding difficult to believe is that you tortured me for days over something that in the end is just good news all 'round."

"Ain't just about me gettin' better so quick'," he insisted, determined to pull back the curtain on as much as he could while his nerve held. "There be more to the tale than ye know..."

Hector wanted to press on, to come clean on the facts insofar as he could, but Elizabeth had taken to staring out the porthole behind him and was standing stock still. "Shh!" she whispered with her finger to her lips. "Did you hear that?"

He stared back at her as he listened intently. There it was, the sound of something scraping up against the hull of his craft. Maybe just a bit of debris? The sound came again. There was no doubting it – from the thump above, he knew a line had been thrown from the port side. Someone had brains enough to use the _Corazón_ to hide behind on approach to the island, and that same someone was now attempting to board. More trouble and timed to coincide with his infirmity on top of it. It didn't bode well.

Secrets and quarrelling would have to wait. Wordlessly he got to his feet and retrieved his pistol from the bureau drawer, loading it and passing it over to Elizabeth. From the coldness in her eyes and the angry set of her lips, he had no cause to wonder if she was prepared to use it.

Reaching towards the back of his closet shelf, Hector pulled down his scabbard and quietly drew his cutlass, the blade worn but no less sharp for that. From the look on her face, he could tell that his choice of weapon puzzled Elizabeth – she likely recognized it for the antique it was – but he had neither the time nor the inclination to explain that he was far more adept with steel than with shot. Combining his sword with the firepower in her hand, they were ready as they could be for whatever the coming fight would bring.

As he reached the door to the hall and quietly turned the knob, it occurred to him briefly that he wasn't exactly dressed to impress, what with only a t-shirt and his small clothes providing any cover at all. No point in worrying over fashion, though –killing didn't exactly require fine garments.

It would have been a cagier strategy to send Elizabeth in another direction and present a dual front to the enemy, but he'd not yet seen her ability in present-day battle and was unwilling to trust her safety on the premise that it would come back to her when she needed it. He stepped out into the passageway and motioned for her to follow as he slipped as stealthily as his aching leg would allow through each room below deck.

Hector stopped near the stairs and listened again, waiting for the scrape of footsteps above his head. He couldn't hear anything beyond the usual creak of his ship on the waves and when he turned and raised a questioning eyebrow at Elizabeth, she shrugged and shook her head.

Climbing the few steps to the deck was more of a problem than he would ever have admitted; his weapon hand and his wounded leg were both on the right side. Hector ground his teeth against the flare of pain and forged ahead, determined not to show weakness to either Elizabeth or his unknown foe.

The sun was high in the sky as he emerged from the cabin, the warm rays shining down into his face and for a moment, he was left squinting up into the light. He held up his hand to stay Elizabeth in her ascent and she nodded quickly to show her agreement, waiting in the shady doorway with her weapon at the ready. Stubborn she might prove at times, but he was glad she had sense enough to know when to obey an order.

He could see no one on the deck at all and he crept to the gunwale, glancing down over the side towards where they'd heard the bumps against the hull. Hector almost missed the gig, small and hidden in the shadows as it was. Beat up and ragged-looking, it contained nothing more than a few jugs of water, some hemp line and a pair of cracked oars.

Before he could cut the line and cast off the poor excuse for a boat, he heard the resounding thump of boots dropping to the deck behind him and felt the cool barrel of a gun against the back of his neck. Blinded by the sunlight as he'd been, Hector knew he must have missed the presence of an assailant hidden amongst the rigging and sails. A mistake no experienced pirate should have made, yet he'd gone and given over the advantage without so much as a second thought. He straightened and held his arms away from his side but did not relinquish his hold on his weapon. There might be opportunity yet to turn the tables and he'd not want to miss the chance.

"Honestly, Hector...I'm not sure eternity is long enough for me to forget the sight of you prancing about in your skivvies. Good lord, man, have you no decency at all? Might just have to gouge my eyes out to make sure I need never repeat the experience."

Hector gut tightened in barely concealable fury at the sound of the all too familiar voice. A snarl tugged at his lip and his fist clenched the pommel of his sword more firmly. "Not enough water to keep ye occupied on yer own side of the country? Ye know ye be almost as welcome here as the French pox in a whorehouse."

"Is that any way to greet an old friend and comrade in arms? Tsk tsk. Perhaps your testy attitude and lack of proper attire mean that I interrupted some kind of intimate activity. Buggering the cabin boy, maybe? Or do you still keep livestock aboard for that very purpose?"

"Actually," came Elizabeth's cool, calm reply at the very same moment that she cocked the hammer of her gun, "I asked him not to wear anything that could stain when we came out on deck. I thought I might save myself the effort of having to scrub your bloody brains out of his good clothes."

The same moment Jack Sparrow's pistol clattered to the deck, Hector turned and with a flourish, tucked the blade beneath the man's still slack jaw. The ridiculous dreadlocks were gone, but long, dark hair still hung loose over Jack's thin shoulders. Black sunglasses had replaced the kohl, but Jack's eyes were so wide with surprise that Hector could see the whites even through the tinted lenses. Jack's dandy-type moustache quivered and his gold teeth caught the sun as he began to stammer.

"Now, no need for threats, luv. Just came to do a piece of friendly business, is all. Hector, tell her how it is."

Hector grinned. He never did tire of seeing Jack Sparrow on the pointy end of a sword. "Seems like she's already got a good sense of who she's dealin' with, Jack. Bright girl, wouldn't ye say?"

Jack dared a glance over his shoulder at Elizabeth and his eyes bulged out even further. "Bloody hell! Lizzie! What's she doing here?"

Elizabeth looked at him askance, even as her gun hand began to drop. "Pardon me? Do I know you?"

"Not so well as I'm sure you hoped, darling," Jack crooned as he flashed her a charming smile, one that faltered somewhat when Hector dug the tip of his sword just a bit deeper into the other man's throat.

"State yer business, Sparrow, and then be gone!" growled Hector, not pleased at all with the burgeoning curiosity on Elizabeth's face. Enthralled her already, Sparrow had...just as he had so long ago when she took flights of fancy based on romantic lies about the silly twit. He'd slit the beggar's throat now if he didn't know it would heal every bit as fast as the bullet wound in his own leg. Might feel good to do so regardless but in the end, he'd do nothing more than horrify the girl.

At Hector's words, Jack finally tore his eyes from Elizabeth and straightened, sniffing indignantly while his hands remained up around his ears. "You owe me a ship, Barbossa, and I intend to collect."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Damn to the deepest, darkest abyss them as built the Panama Canal," Hector muttered furiously beneath his breath. "Knew from the beginnin' that one continent b'tween us weren't near enough."

Even limping, his anger fuelled him along fast enough that Beth nearly had to run in order to keep up as he stormed down the pier. They were returning from Hector's scathing castigation of his crew and she could almost see thunderclouds following them as he strode indomitably back to his ship.

That the Blackhearts on watch had not spotted an intruder in the face of constant threat to her and the rest of them, Hector had deemed indefensible. That the interloper was named Jack Sparrow – and that some among the crew had looked cheered at the fact that he'd joined them on Wisteria – ensured that the rebuke was peppered with deafening threats of the harshest and most painful of consequences. Even Beth, who'd not been on the receiving end, felt her face go ashen at the invective Hector had unleashed upon his men.

She would have preferred to avoid the scene altogether, but Hector had been more than adamant that she not remain alone on the _Corazón_ so long as Jack was in residence. Given the dramatic downward spiral of his mood, Beth had known better than to put forth much of an argument.

As they boarded, Hector stopped short and she ran into him from behind. She looked questioningly up at him and saw that his face was creased with disgust as he glared down the deck. She followed his gaze and saw their new arrival stretched out on a lounge chair, his shirt off and his legs stretched out wide as he dozed in the sun. A half empty bottle of wine was resting close to where one arm hung down, and his boots were dangling from where they'd been tied together and tossed over the boom.

Even with his cupids-bow mouth slack with sleep, Beth had to admit that Jack was attractive, possessed of an almost feminine beauty that contrasted starkly with Hector's more rugged looks. Jack's chest was well defined and smooth, and his skin marked here and there with bluish tattoos. Firm, corded muscles were visible on his arms, and his legs looked to be long and lithe beneath his tight jeans. Combined with the bright smile and suave British accent he'd displayed earlier, she was sure that he was a man who didn't lack for female attention.

For a while, Beth wondered if she hadn't already met Jack Sparrow somewhere. The way he carried himself, the flamboyant gestures he used when he spoke...it all seemed somewhat familiar. She couldn't pin down a specific instance where she might have had occasion to come face to face with such a man – maybe he'd been one of Will's witnesses or defendants in court. He had a very unmistakable presence, though, and she was convinced that she definitely would have remembered him.

Perhaps it was just the type of man she recognized more than the person himself...the handsome and smooth-talking Lothario who did well with the ladies and seemed to rub other men the wrong way.

As nice as he was to look at, his presence had created all kinds of havoc. Far from appearing concerned over it, though, Jack seemed to enjoy the reactions he elicited. Being unwelcome clearly hadn't kept him from making himself comfortable; in fact, she would have bet that his manifestation on deck was carefully staged to push Hector's buttons.

The guy was ballsy; she had to give him that. She was glad that she had convinced Hector to return his vintage cutlass to its storage place before they'd left, otherwise the irrepressible Mr. Sparrow might have found himself carved into little tiny pieces and tossed over the side as chum.

Beth gently took Hector's forearm, feeling his muscles tighten with tension as he flexed his hands into fists. The day had not been a good one for him and the steam he'd let off on his men didn't seem to have relieved any of the pressure. A pleasant diversion might get him back on a more even keel, at least enough that they could deal more effectively with the new situation in which they found themselves.

"Come with me," she said quietly, determined not to attract Jack's attention and risk another needling confrontation. Hector's scowl deepened as he continued to glower at the snoozing man. She was sure there was a story to go along with Jack's dramatic effect on Hector but she didn't think the time was right to ask for details. She pulled on him and he finally submitted, silently following her down below decks and to the rooms she'd been using since he'd been hurt.

Even after she'd locked the door behind them and pulled the curtains, Hector stood stiffly in the middle of the room, his thoughts elsewhere. She had to stand before him for a fair chunk of time before he seemed to realize that she was waiting for him to notice.

"Promise me that ye'll not listen to whate'er spews from the lips of that greasy fop," Hector growled. "Ye might think him pretty, but he's not to be trusted."

"I promise," Beth replied solemnly, smoothing her hands over his shoulders and arms before taking his hands in hers and squeezing reassuringly. His eyes were like two chips of cold ice and she was determined to see a thaw before she was done.

He became lost in his thoughts again, his stormy thousand mile stare looking straight through her and to some infuriating past. "Had I seen him on his way o'er, I'd have blown his raft from the water and let the gulls have at his weasely carcass. Thinks he can come in 'ere and lay claim to that which he don't deserve..."

She walked around behind him and pulled out the band that held his hair in a loose ponytail. "I understand," she murmured as she combed her hands through the long, soft strands, letting them slip through her fingers and down over his shoulders. So few men had such beautifully long hair – she wasn't sure she'd ever get tired of the novelty of it. Beth had always loved having her hair touched and brushed, and she wondered fleetingly if Hector enjoyed it as well. Well enough, perhaps, as he wasn't batting her hands away.

"Figures he need do nothin' more than flash them pearly whites and he's won the day," Hector went on, though with slightly less malice than that with which he'd begun his tirade. Beth let her hands roam over his back and settle at his waist as she strolled slowly around to face him once more.

"All style and no substance?" she asked distractedly as she pulled his t-shirt from beneath the waistband of his jeans and slid her hands under so she could caress the solid muscles beneath. It had been only three days but it felt like much longer – it was so good to feel his skin again. His heart drummed its beat where her fingers rested and she wanted to be able to kiss his firm, warm flesh. All of it.

"Aye! That be it exactly!" he exclaimed, looking at her as if finally understanding that she was there, too.

Her words seemed to have satisfied him and she realized that he'd been worried that their guest had already turned her head...and perhaps her affections. It was reasonable to assume that there must be old and unfinished business between the two of them, something that had roused Hector's suspicion and jealousy. She was determined to make sure he knew he had nothing to worry about with her.

"He likes to get you worked up, though..." she said offhandedly and his mouth tightened again. He didn't even notice that her hands had dropped or that she'd tugged open his heavy belt and had started to undo the buttons on his fly. It was all she could do to contain her devious smile.

"He's always had a knack fer such, that be true," he acknowledged grimly, backing up as Beth placed both hands against his chest and walked him in reverse towards the bed. When his calves hit the edge of the mattress, he sat without truly realizing what he was doing and she knelt in front of him.

"You'd be better off ignoring him, don't you think?" she queried, unbuckling his heavy boots and pulling them off. "He only challenges you because he's threatened by you. Don't respond and his game is undone."

"Like tryin' to ignore flies buzzin' round yer head," he grunted. "Unrelentin', whinin', scrawny, back-bitin' blackflies." Hector reclined back onto the blankets as she pushed down on his shoulders. Gently she climbed onto his lap to straddle him, careful not to jar his injured thigh as she did so.

Beth leaned over top of him, her hair falling in curtains around his face. He narrowed his eyes at her, but did not resist as she bent lower and kissed him softly. Tracing a leisurely path over his lips with her tongue brought forth a longing noise from deep in his throat that matched one of her own.

"What _are_ ye doin'?" he grumbled, reaching up to take her face in his hands and caress her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. He tried to look stern, but the glacial glare had begun to melt under her warm gaze.

"I'm doing _this_," she said, bending to bestow delicate, lingering kisses on the fine lines beside each of his eyes and then those at the corners of his mouth. She smoothed the hair away from his temples and kissed him there too, so lightly that it tickled her lips but put a hitch in his breath.

"And _this_," Beth went on, snuggling her face into the crook of his neck and kissing him there, his skin warm on her lips as her hand trailed down to slide beneath the band of his underwear. She drew a strangled gasp from him as she fondled the hot and growing stiffness between his legs, and smiled to herself.

She yearned to give him what he needed and although it was sure to relieve some of the stress that had been mounting, Beth wanted it to be about more than that. He had to understand how much she wanted him…how she craved the intimacy it would create between them.

He writhed in her grasp, twitching up against her. "God, girl, but I've missed yer touch."

Hector clasped his hand hard over top of hers and she could feel the pulse in his cock as it throbbed against her palm, a sensation that sent a shivery tremor of arousal through her body.

"And I've missed touching you. But right now I want to see you…taste you," she murmured, pushing up his t-shirt so she could lay open mouth kisses and tender nips across the broad expanse of his chest. He responded with a low groan and curled his thumbs beneath the waistbands of his jeans and underwear both, shoving them down past his hips.

She ran her palm slowly up the underside of his erection and he flexed his hips upwards to meet her firm caress, a sharp exhalation of pleasure escaping his lips. Beth stared down into his eyes, watching his face contort in ecstasy as she stroked the velvety head of his cock. The sight of him laid bare before her, rigid and heavy, took her breath away.

"I love having you this way," she whispered huskily, sliding her hand back down the long curve of his shaft. "So ready, so hard…you're beautiful like this." Beth moved further back and bent to kiss the smooth, broad tip of his member, licking away the silvery drop that had welled up there. His cock dipped towards his midriff as she did so and she took him more firmly into her hand, tracing a slow path around the flared ridge before sliding her lips over top of the dusky-hued head to envelop it completely.

He sucked in air through clenched teeth and rolled his hips, his legs trembling with restraint as she savoured the taste of his need. Beth tenderly explored the hot, swollen flesh with her tongue, lapping and swirling as he raked his fingers through her hair and bunched it tightly into his fist. She opened her lips wide and took him in as deeply as she dared, wishing she could give him more but knowing he was simply too big for either of them to find gratification in that way.

Instead, she sheathed him with her hands as well, working them down and then back up over his foreskin, revelling in the feel of his throbbing firmness beneath her fingers and on her tongue. His breath echoed harshly through the cabin as she stroked him more quickly and as he began to thrust instinctively upwards, she felt a surge of excitement at having brought him so swiftly to bliss.

At the very moment she was sure he wouldn't be able to hold back any longer, he let go of her hair and instead grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her back with unsteady hands and forcing her to unwillingly abandon her labour of lust. She stared down at him, panting and bewildered. "What's wrong?"

"Ye must stop," Hector gasped hoarsely, his eyes dark and clouded with rapture. "If'n ye don't, I'll not be able to stem the tide and ye'll be left wantin'."

Her face flushed hot and she was moved that in the midst of the act, he'd want to share the pleasure with her. It was tempting, but not this time. "No," Beth said, leaning over to kiss him deeply while dropping her hand to again take hold of as much of his exquisitely engorged manhood as she could, "this is what I want. Let me do this, please."

He let out a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes closed as he released his grasp on her. Beth chose to take that as his acceptance and after licking her lips in carnal hunger, she captured his cockhead in her mouth again and skimmed her tongue lightly across the weeping slit as she stroked him fervently. Hector cried out and grabbed the crumpled bedding on either side of him, digging in and pulling so hard that he tore holes in the sheets. His responsiveness fed her hunger further and she whimpered as a rush of arousal washed through her, making her hot and slick.

The delicious groans breaking from his lips grew louder and as Beth's own need intensified, she couldn't help but reach between her legs to touch herself through her shorts. Her purrs of pleasure came out muffled and in giving voice to her longing, the vibrations from her throat spurred him on anew. He twisted beneath her on the bed, his back arching and the muscles of his thighs shaking as she passionately strove to drive all thoughts from his troubled mind.

His foreskin was contracting beneath her tongue, signalling his impending climax. Beth drew back and licked languid circles around his pulsing, glistening tip, teasing and tantalizing him even further. "Don't hold back," she moaned deeply between long, wet strokes. "Give yourself to me…"

With a savage roar he thrust his hands into her hair again and jolted up roughly, bucking once and then once more. She gripped him in her hand as tightly as she dared and closed her lips snugly around him, milking him with her tongue as he poured forth his essence into her warm and welcoming mouth.

As he collapsed back against the mattress and tried to catch his breath, Beth drew back and kissed his gradually abating erection, feeling the last spasms of his orgasm quivering against her lips. She slid off of his lap and curled up at his side, resting her head against his chest as he cradled her against him. A pulsing ache at the crux of her thighs spoke of her own unfulfilled physical desire, but she decided that it was a fair exchange for leaving Hector so relaxed and sated.

His heart beat strongly where her cheek pressed to his ribs and she buried her face in the rumpled t-shirt that was still hitched up under his arms, revelling in the smell and the warmth of the man. What had she been thinking, not sharing a bed with him for three days? Being so close to him now made her feel that absence even more keenly.

"Put a new shine on the day, ye have," he sighed contentedly, hugging her more tightly to his side as he finally found breath enough to speak. "But that t'was yer intent, be I right?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," she protested indignantly, although she was sure he could hear the smile in her voice. Beth let her hand trail over the tiny line of southbound hairs on his abdomen. "Perhaps there was some small benefit for you, but all I did was realise my own selfish fantasy."

A chuckle resonated deeply in his chest. "And pleased I be to indulge ye in such pursuits. Ain't nothin' if not accommodatin'."

Beth snorted in exasperation but giggled nonetheless. "Always so considerate."

"Aye," he said boastfully. "'Tis a lucky woman as takes such a man to be her lover."

Hector turned his head to soundly kiss her forehead and disentangled himself from her embrace. Beth rolled onto her side and tucked her hand beneath her head as she watched him get to his feet. She sighed appreciatively at she caught a brief flash of his wonderfully tight behind before he yanked his pants back up once more, and he turned to look back over his shoulder at her, his eyebrow arched.

"Not to question yer sincerity, lass, but be ye sure yer not in need of...servicin'? Leavin' a lady unsatisfied, t'would hardly be the gentlemanly thin' to do."

She gave him a sultry smile. "I was just enjoying the view, my Captain. But I'll take you up on that offer a bit later, be sure of that. Besides, we don't want to stay below board for too long; we have company and it wouldn't do to be rude. Jack..."

He frowned as he pulled his t-shirt down. "Bad enough that he's on me ship. I'll not hear his name spoken in the sanctity of me cabin." He turned away from her, falling silent. Beth was afraid that he'd withdrawn into himself when he spoke again, his voice subdued.

"He's come here lookin' fer somethin', 'Lizabeth. And now that he's seen ye...there's no doubtin' that he's already got designs on ye, flirtin' with ye and flauntin' hisself as he has. If he figures out what ye mean to me, he'll not leave off 'til he's either torn ye from me or taken ye for hisself."

Beth scooted to the edge of the bed and stood, wrapping her arms around Hector from behind and laying her head against his back. "Even if what you say about his motives are true, do you really think I'd let that happen? I'm where I want to be... I'm with the man who holds my heart. Nothing he says or does can change that, I promise."

He covered her hands with his, squeezing gently. "And what if he tells ye tales that convince ye I'm not the man ye thought?"

She made a frustrated sound and grabbed his arm, making him turn around to face her. "I might not know everything about you, Hector but I'm pretty sure I know exactly what kind of man you are. And if I made you doubt my feelings for you over the last three days...well, shame on me for being so self-involved that I couldn't see that. You don't have to trust him but I am asking you to trust me."

He folded her into his arms and held her tightly. "Ye've me trust and more, lass. Fergive the disjointed ramblins' of a fool."

She pulled back and smiled up at him, reaching up to cradle his cheek in her hand. "Ah, but you're my fool." She grew serious again. "Remember what I've told you and be patient. I've dealt with opportunists before. We'll figure out his game and make sure he gets nothing except that which we're willing to give him."

* * *

When Hector and Beth came up the stairs, they emerged to see Jack barefoot, jumping up and down on the deck, his hand buried in the front pocket of his very tight jeans.

"What the hell is he doing?" Beth whispered.

Hector rolled his eyes. "With Sparrow, there's just no tellin'. Perhaps 'tis an attempt to relieve himself of some manner of Cupid's itch."

They watched him dance around a few seconds longer as though his pants were on fire, wiggling his hips and fishing around in his pocket with long, thin fingers. It wasn't until she heard a very faint, tinny song floating through the air that Beth realized what he was up to. "His cell phone is ringing but it's stuck," she murmured, her hand coming up to conceal her grin.

Finally Jack managed to pry it loose, a triumphant smile on his lips as he flicked it open and answered, "Sparrow."

She was going to take a step out onto the deck but Hector grabbed her by her arm, shaking his head and placing a finger over his lips. Beth moved back beside him, looking towards Jack to make sure he was still unaware of their arrival.

"Jus' got here, didn't I?" Jack said. "Haven't exactly found an opportunity to sit down and chat. You need to practice a bit of patience, mate. All that stress, s'not good fer yer digestion."

Hector's lips thinned in anger and Beth took his hand, squeezing to remind him to hold his temper. Clearly Jack hadn't just dropped by for old time's sake, but there was no use letting him know that they were privy to his conversation.

"That's _Captain_ Sparrow, actually…" Jack responded peevishly to the person on the other end. "And you'd best remember that you've no hope of retrievin' yer precious portal without me. It's you as needs said object, not I. I for one am perfectly content to continue on in the here and now, savvy?"

Even from a distance, Beth could hear the explosive rampage on the other end and Jack held the phone away from his ear, wincing at whatever nastiness was being directed at him.

"Sorry, mate...you're breaking up. Bad signal and all that..."

Jack snapped the cover of the phone shut and had started to jam it back into his pocket when he seemed to think better of it and dropped it into one of his boots instead. He slumped back on the deck chair, grabbed up the bottle once more and slugged back another mouthful of stolen wine.

Hector bent to mutter in her ear. "Lizabeth, ye must follow me lead here. Yer not to say anythin' about the call, understand? He's playin' each side against the other and until we know who it was as called him just now, we need to keep things close to the vest."

Beth nodded. It was obvious that Jack was tied to whatever was going on, but what he meant when he talked about a portal just puzzled her. Unless he meant that finding the wreck site was a portal to some kind of undiscovered treasure? Perhaps they needed to take a closer look at the area surrounding the old ship.

"Jaaaaack," Hector's voice rumbled as he swaggered across the deck slowly towards the other man. "Good to see ye've made yerself at home. Be there anythin' else we can do fer ye? A light repast, perhaps? A pillow fer yer delicate head? Or maybe ye'd like to take a bit of a swim with one of me anchors tied to yer leg?"

"Hector! Elizabeth!" Jack greeted them with a wide grin, holding up the bottle in salute. "Damned gracious of you, really, but I'd hate to be a burden. Tell you what...hand over ownership of this very pretty boat of yours and I'll be on my way."

Hector sneered. "And what, pray tell, became of the last ship I bestowed upon ye? When I laid eyes on ye them twelve glorious, all-too-short years ago, ye had just set sail fer California in a perfectly fine schooner. Where be that ship, Jack? Hmmm?"

"That weren't much more than a toy, really," Jack scoffed. "Man could hardly call himself 'Captain' bobbing about in such a craft. Might as well have come with short pants and a little sailor's cap. Truly, it was more of an insult than a gift if you think about it."

Beth couldn't help a small smile as the image Jack described materialized in mind's eye but she quickly subdued herself with a sharp glance from Hector, who'd crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. "Must have missed yer response, there," Hector continued, squinting suspiciously at him. "Where be the schooner?"

Jack smiled sheepishly up at them. "Well, it would seem that there were certain parties in the Golden State under the distinct impression that I owed them money and it was their feeling that I might be more inclined to repay that debt if they set fire to my boat. With me in it."

Hector sighed heavily. "Strange, ain't it, how often folks seem to have that reaction once they've had occasion to become better acquainted with ye? Not the first time as someone's attempted to barbeque ye."

Jack sniffed. "That's a moot point and balderdash besides. All that matters is that we have a standing arrangement that sees you keeping me afloat, and in a ship as meets my very high standards. Are you going to honour that accord or do we have to bring in our intermediary? I'm guessing she would be less than pleased at being summoned for such a trifling matter, don't you?"

Hector took a threatening step towards him. "Assumin', ye are, that she'd be bothered to answer ye at all. She ain't so inclined to be puttin' in an appearance nowadays, and would be even less so if she knew that ye continue to prove yerself a buffoon. As I hear tell, I ain't the first to inform ye that 'tis a poor captain as cannot keep hold of his own ship."

"She?" Beth asked. "Who are you talking about?"

Neither of them gave any sign of having heard her question and Jack had risen to his feet, thrusting out his chest huffily and pointing a wavering finger towards Hector's face. "Well, then that must make you an equally poor captain, seeing as how you purloined the _Pearl_ only to scuttle her in the Gulf!"

"And fer how long, boy, did I sail her and sail her well?" Hector bellowed, his eyes getting wider with anger. "Can count on one hand – and still not use all me fingers – the number of years ye stood at the helm and called yerself 'Captain' of the _Pearl_. Ne'er did ye deserve to command a ship so fine, and certainly wasn't ye as made her the power she was in the Caribbean!"

Jack sputtered, turning away for a moment before he whipped off his sunglasses and rounded again, his eyes so dark and filled with rage they looked almost black. "You still owe me a ship an' this is the one I want!"

"Ye'll take her o'er me dead body, ye fawnin', pestilent goat seducer!"

Jack gave a cruel smile and jabbed Hector in the centre of his chest. "Wouldn't be the first time I've stepped over your stinking corpse to take what I wanted, Barbossa. You weren't ever a match for me, dead or alive. Or in between, as the case may be."

"Stop it!" Beth screamed, and the two of them looked at her as if they'd forgotten her very presence. She could have sworn she saw a spark of fear in Hector's eyes as he turned to her, but Jack's expression was one of malevolent glee. "You're acting like asses, both of you," she went on. "I don't know what it is between you..."

Jack laughed and his gold teeth glinted in the late afternoon rays. "Ah. Elizabeth…and yet not _quite_ Elizabeth, are you? Not as I knew her, anyway. You don't remember any of it, do you, my charming murderess?" He sauntered towards her, his hips swaying and his hands waving loosely.

"Shut yer yap, Sparrow!" growled Hector, grabbing Beth by the wrist and pulling her until she was slightly behind him and well out of Jack's reach.

"Murderess?" she gasped, trying to get out from behind Hector's back so she could confront her accuser. "Where do you get off saying something like that? I've never hurt anyone in my life!"

Jack leaned towards her and winked. "Perhaps not in this one, luv...perhaps not yet. I'll not be giving you another opportunity, if that's what you're thinking. Kill me once, shame on you. Kill me twice...well, I'd be a fool to let you close enough to try again, wouldn't I?"

"Enough!" barked Hector, and he advanced on Jack with his fists clenched. Jack's eyes widened in alarm and he scrambled in a circle until he was on the other side of the heavy chair.

"That's close as you need get, Hector," he warned, dodging back and forth to keep a safe distance between them. "Perhaps you an' I need have a private an' more in-depth discussion about what you do and what you don't owe me. Either that or Lizzie 'n I can find a nice quiet corner and have ourselves a chat instead. I've loads to tell her, savvy?"

Beth watched as Hector's grip on the chair tightened to the point that his knuckles were pale. "Fine," he rasped between gritted teeth, his shoulders slumping in surrender.

"No! Not fine!" Beth cried out, grabbing hold of his arm. "Hector, you said you trust me...whatever he's holding over your head, you're the one giving him that power. I already told you that there's nothing he could say that would change my feelings. Let me hear what he thinks he knows and then he won't be able to lord it over us."

Hector looked at her and the pain on his face took her aback. "Can't let that happen, girl. This business be between me 'n Jack. Ye've no part in it."

She let her hand drop and took a step back from him, something inside her constricting with hurt. "Excuse me?"

"There be matters we need to discuss that I can't be sharin' with ye…not yet."

Beth felt a slow boil starting in her gut. "You'd shut me out now, after everything we've gone through? You've asked me to take a hell of a lot on faith and I have tried to do exactly that, but you won't show any faith in me? Well, that certainly speaks with a volume all its own, wouldn't you say?"

Hector sighed sadly. "Ye don't understand, my love..."

"Oh no! Don't you dare!" she growled, her hands fisted at her side. "Don't you _dare_ call me that, and then think you can go and push me aside anyway!"

He reached out towards her but she angrily shoved his hand away. "Ye must listen to me, 'Lizabeth," Hector said, a hint of desperation in his rough voice. "There'd be no understandin' fer ye, not even if I was willin' to let ye hear..."

She felt suddenly cold and empty. "Well, how very fortunate I am to have you to shield me from all that confusion," she said, refusing to let even a single tear slide despite the lump that had grown in her throat. "By all means, you two boys have your little conference. Don't let me stop you. Perhaps I'll go below and darn some socks, do some tatting...you know, things expected of women. Oh wait...maybe that was two or three hundred years ago. Am I getting my centuries confused again? Silly me."

"Yer bein' ridiculous," Hector snapped, his patience worn thin. "There be no need to lose yer temper o'er this..."

"Then I'm ridiculous," she hollered back, her eyes burning, "but I deserve to know what's being said! And if you're not willing to tell me, then we don't have anything left to discuss, do we?"

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest and she felt sick to her stomach as she turned away, again shrugging off Hector's attempt to stop her. She stalked towards the door, finally letting fall a tear or two of frustration.

How dense could she be? Maybe the concussion had permanently destroyed the brain cells she had once used for good judgement. Trust...it had been nothing more than a word, borne on the release of sexual tension. It would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

Her problem was that she had wanted to believe in Hector...wanted it so badly, in fact, that she was willing to let a ridiculous number of questions go unanswered. He had made her feel again – really feel, in the most intense sense of the word – and she'd let that blind her to the fact that all along, she was being kept in the dark about everything else going on.

She was done thinking with her hormones instead of her brain. Danger or not, it was time for Beth Swann to go back to acting like herself once more - independent, strong and above all, responsible. And one way or another, she'd find the truth about what was happening to her life and do what she had to do in order to put things right.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Hector stalked back and forth through the galley of the _Corazón_, his arms cinched angrily across his chest as he watched Jack Sparrow stroll about, rifling through cupboards and drawers as though searching for swag on a captured galleon.

If the wretch hadn't chopped out the centre of Sao Feng's map to the fountain after the battle with Beckett and the British armada in the first place, he'd have been well rid of Jack Sparrow centuries ago and a happier man to boot. Cheating death again and knowing that Sparrow had been unable to do the same...ah, but he'd have enjoyed his immortality all the more for it.

But it was not to be. When Calypso had spared them all that wicked night, she had also answered Jack's cries for mercy as his pitiful craft was being battered to bits in the storm. Not only had she saved the painted devil but Hector could have sworn he'd heard the goddess cackle in delicious irony as she'd deposited Jack's weevil-infested hide upon the deck of the _Pearl_ by way of a sudden, foam-topped swell.

Hector could still see him, sprawled across the boards and hacking like a near-drowned cat as the lightning subsided and the clouds parted overhead. He would have run Jack through and tossed his corpse back overboard but for Calypso's promise that the _Black Pearl_ would remain his so long as he swore that Jack would never be without a ship of his own. Little had he truly appreciated the worm's propensity for losing the very same and the burden it would become as decades fell to the wayside.

Now the _Pearl_ was long gone and he had to continue fulfilling the terms of that ancient accord. There just didn't seem to be a way to gain any ground on the slippery snake that was Jack Sparrow.

"Don't know what was going through your head, taking up with the likes of Elizabeth Swann in the first place," Jack drew Hector's attention as he continued to natter on, a smug look on his face. He lifted up a crystal wine glass and then tapped it with his fingernail, holding it to his ear as if testing its quality. "Nothin' but trouble and sorrow trail after that one."

"Same could be said of ye," spat Hector, grabbing the goblet from Jack's hand and placing it back in the sideboard. "And I'll be thankin' ye to leave me belongins' be. Ye stand a better chance of takin' the helm of the _Pearl_ again than ye have of sailin' off in me ketch. Ain't nothin' in me possession that will e'er belong to ye."

"Ah. And do you think to include your lady love in that?" asked Jack, a lascivious smile spreading across his face as he twirled up the ends of his moustache.

Hector began to sputter before he thought to gather his wits about him, instead giving Jack a narrow, sideways glare. "Don't need to. She'd not have ye."

Jack wandered over to stare out the starboard porthole, drumming against the bulkhead with his long, spindly fingers. "S'that right? Well, apparently she'll not be having you either. Pretty sure that's her making for your boat launch right now."

Rushing to the window and shoving Jack unceremoniously to the side, Hector peered out. Damned if the little maggot wasn't right! Striding purposefully towards where the power boats were docked was his Elizabeth, a satchel swinging at her side and her head held high.

Hector let out a growl and then grabbed Jack roughly by the scruff his neck, dragging him protesting and clawing at Hector's hands as they clambered up the stairs and made their way out on deck. Unlikely he'd leave Sparrow alone on his ship again, not now that he understood that Jack coveted the _Corazón_ – it would be just like him to sail off as Hector watched from the pier, a bit of payback for some of the same from Hector so many years before. Either that or he'd drink Hector's wine stash dry, an act not nearly so dastardly but a thought that was upsetting nevertheless.

"Off!" Hector said as they emerged into the sunlight, pointing threateningly towards the gangway.

Jack held his hands up in mock surrender and meandered down to the pier with Hector stomping behind, close on his heels. "I'll just find something to occupy my time 'round here, shall I?" he muttered, scurrying out of Hector's way, and wandering in a somewhat irregular path towards where the other boats were berthed and men were gathered.

"'Lizabeth!" bellowed Hector at her, and although Elizabeth turned to look back at him briefly, she didn't stop her determined progress. He could hear the buzz of a distant engine and understood that while he and Jack had retreated to the galley to talk, she'd arranged for her own transportation off of Wisteria. The realization sent a cold spike through his heart – she was leaving and hadn't even bothered to tell him so.

It didn't take much time for him to catch up with her, even with his injury. His legs were so much longer than hers and although she moved at a steady pace, she wasn't trying to outrun him.

"And where do ye think yer goin'?" he asked brusquely as he came up beside her and matched her gait.

"I'm going back to work," she said calmly without breaking her stride. He found the serenity on her face far more troubling than if she'd yelled at him. "I'm finished playing house with you."

He grabbed her elbow and abruptly stopped her. She winced and looked accusingly at him, but he didn't release her. "That what ye think this is? Child's play?"

"I don't know _what_ this is," Beth said, turning to look at him, her brown eyes betraying some of her sadness. "My problem is that I've been so caught up in the intensity of all this...of _you_...that I've lost my perspective. I need to take some time away to get myself back on track."

Hector swept a dark glance around the pier and the men who had been watching the drama unfold suddenly found new and interesting ways to keep themselves busy. Turning back to Elizabeth, he quietly said, "Ye promised, didn't ye, that nothin' that leprous dog Jack had to say would change the truth of what ye held in yer heart. What I am to think now, to see ye flee and without so much as a by-your-leave?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes with a sigh. "You don't get it, do you? Nothing _he_ said caused this. The decision to leave me out, to hold back – that was all _you_. Hector, if you don't believe that what we have is strong enough to withstand the truth...well, I just don't know what to do with that."

He knew what she said was spot on but he couldn't make himself let her go. Hector straightened himself to his full height and glared down at her. "'Lizabeth, I _forbid_ ye to leave the island."

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up and she laughed in a short burst of genuine amusement. "You forbid me? What are you going to do, toss me in the brig? Chain me to your bedpost? Or maybe tether me to your waist so you can keep me in sight at all times?"

"This ain't no laughin' matter," he snarled. "Danger awaits ye on the open water and here ye are, tossin' yerself into the belly of the beast with nary a thought fer yer own safety. Have ye come to despise me so much that ye'd take such a chance rather than remain under me protection?"

She gave him a long and defiant look. "Protection – that's what it comes down to, doesn't it? Do you know how tired I am of having the men in my life feel that they need to shelter me and keep me safe? My father, Will, Jim...even Tony. Do I really come across as so dainty and helpless?"

"T'is the nature of men's hearts," Hector said gruffly, relaxing his hold on her arm and gathering her hand into his, "to protect that which they love best."

Her bottom lip quivered slightly at his words, but she took a deep breath and pushed on. "And what are you protecting me from when you refuse to be honest with me about what is happening?"

He didn't reply immediately, his heart aching more with each word she spoke. She was slipping away and he hadn't an inkling how to put a stop to it. "Perhaps that be about protectin' meself as well as ye. Ye push fer the truth, yet ye know not what ye ask or what knowin' will do to ye. And that be assumin' ye'd be inclined to believe the words as passed me lips in the first place and not think me demented."

Elizabeth stepped closer and her warm, soft scent moved around him, lifted on the gentle ocean breeze. "You have to take that chance and allow me to decide for myself. One way or the other, I'm going to find out. Wouldn't it be better for both of us if I heard it from you rather than someone else?"

He couldn't wrestle with it any longer. Better to reveal what he could and let fate sort out the rest. Fighting the urge to take her in his arms and hold her tightly, he hesitantly nodded his agreement. "Aye. There'll be no arguing that point. Ye promise to stay here with me and there'll be no more secrets between us."

Elizabeth frowned and seemed about to disagree, but then jerked in surprise when the horn from the newly-arrived powerboat blew a long flat note from the dock. She instinctively grabbed for him and the gesture, involuntary or not, gave him hope. She might resist his desire to keep her safe but she still needed him.

When he looked to the boat – one belonging to the Blackhearts, in fact – Hector recognized one of the girl's workers, but the lad seemed reluctant to come ashore and interrupt their discourse. He wondered what his men had said to cement his formidable reputation amongst those as crewed the _Penzance_. Or perhaps it was Elizabeth's wrath the youngster feared – Hector knew well enough how fierce her fury could be. A perfect match for Barbossa in all things, she was, and a complete idiot would be he who suggested otherwise.

She waved to acknowledge the hail and turned back to Hector, her face set with steely resolve. "No, I can't stay," she said firmly. "I have to go back to the conservation lab – I promised Tony I'd be in to oversee the work on the relics while he keeps the dive going."

"If'n ye need to be leavin', I'll be comin' with ye," he said stubbornly, raising his chin and giving her a look that he hoped discouraged a challenge.

She glared at him for a heartbeat or two before she finally nodded. "Fine," she said, and he was sure he saw a fleeting trace of relief in her face as she did so. Brave front she had put up, but he knew he'd shaken her when he reminded her of what might be awaiting her. Might be he'd have felt some guilt over it, too, had it not been so dire a situation.

Elizabeth knit her brow and looked back up at him. "What are you going to do about Jack?"

By some grace he'd almost forgotten about Sparrow and he sighed resignedly in unwelcome remembrance. "Should we take him with us to the warehouse, our enemies will have found us before nightfall. Leave him here and there'll be nothin' left of me island by the time we return." He turned to look fiercely down the pier where Jack was tossing his limp hands about, spinning some tall tale for a few of the Blackhearts who'd congregated in a circle around him.

"What if your men took him ashore? A night on the town might be just the ticket for someone like Jack. I have a feeling that he won't have to look very hard to find a good time," mused Elizabeth, watching as Jack acted out some wildly exaggerated dance on the planks of the dock and drew an uproarious laugh from those watching.

Hector turned back, the sly smile on his face likely mirroring hers. "Like I told Jack...yer a bright girl and here ye managed to take his measure right off. Aye, that'll work. Can't hardly conspire against us if me men drink him under the table."

He was about to make off to set the plan in motion, but she stopped him with a hand upon his arm. "And tonight...after I've seen to things...then we'll talk?" she asked, a warning in her voice that told him he'd best not toy with her any longer.

"Tonight we talk," he agreed, giving in to his impulse to seize hold of her and kiss her soundly. She gave an angry squeak of protest and pushed hard against his chest, but after a moment her lips began to soften and her small fists opened up to instead cling to him tightly. Slowly she melted in the circle of his arms and her tongue darted out to steal a taste of his passion as she moulded herself against him.

When he at last set her back upon shaky legs and with hardly a breath left in her body, Elizabeth looked up at him in a heated daze. A few brave bikers dared to hoot and holler at the display while off to the side, Hector was almost sure he could hear Jack making gagging sounds and threatening to poke his own eyes out with a sharp stick. His lips quirked in a smile, satisfied at having set Elizabeth's body afire and having made Jack feel squeamish.

"Don't think for a moment," she huffed prettily, the colour still high in her cheeks, "that you're off the hook just because of one kiss."

A sombre mood took him again at her words and nerves flared in his gut. "I told ye, lass. Ye'll have yer answers, and saints preserve us." He left her behind and strode down the pier to find those amongst his crew who shared his high opinion of Jack Sparrow – them as could be trusted to handle the little bastard accordingly.

* * *

The western sky was smeared with splashes of purple, pink and orange as the sun began its descent towards the ocean. Hector turned his face into the glow for a moment, savouring the waning warmth of the day. Dawn and dusk – since he'd come back from the grey nothingness of death, he'd not taken the beauty of either one for granted.

"We're ready to cast off!" Elizabeth called, holding up a hand to shield her eyes so she could catch sight of him against the sunset. Sublime she looked in the golden light, the waves behind her catching the rays and tossing them like glittering doubloons across the surface of the ocean.

Hector had convinced Elizabeth to delay her return until he could see Jack off his island and on his way across the wee bit of water keeping civilized Florida from its unknowable neighbours on Wisteria. Did his heart some good to see Sparrow herded reluctantly aboard the speedboat by a boisterous crew on unplanned and very welcome shore leave. They'd all been given clear directions that Jack was to be good and stewed, if not rendered entirely insensible, before they even gave a thought to returning. He had every confidence that his men would take their duty to heart.

The thump of his boots echoed off the planks of the dock as he walked back to the boat, jumping down and heading for the helm. The lad had taken a position there already, but a long cold look from Hector had the youngster muttering under his breath and sent him backing away to find a seat beside his boss.

Elizabeth patted the boy comfortingly upon the shoulder and shot Hector a disapproving look, but he simply shrugged and started up the motor. The Spectre 32CS powerboat was part of his fleet and he wouldn't be putting forth an apology for taking command.

They started across the short channel and Hector eased the throttle forward, gradually giving the craft enough juice that her prow angled upwards out of the water. The power vibrated through his hands and their progress kicked up a misty white wall of water on either side of them. The wake from a freighter pulling out into the Gulf began to slam against the hull and the speedboat skipped across the crests towards Key West.

The closer they got to shore, the closer he came to facing the conundrum that would be the conversation with Elizabeth. Perhaps it wouldn't do to reveal too much at first – if he could remind her of bits of her past life, it might be enough to trigger her own memories. But what then? Fine to say that nothing would change the way she cared for him, but until she was faced with the truth of who she was and the tie that they'd shared, it was an empty promise.

While both of them had returned from beyond, how did he explain that he had come back centuries earlier than she, and not through the same kind of rebirth at all? Would she remember that moment at Tia Dalma's bayou shack that signalled his return to the world of the living? He'd looked upon a hundred thousand dawns and a hundred thousand sunsets since last they'd said goodbye – how easy would that be to accept?

The notions tumbled around in his brain at a dizzying pace and his head ached at the seeming impossibility of it all. A high pitched whine coming from somewhere made the sensation all the worse and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

With a sudden startling understanding that the sound was getting louder and why, Hector whipped his head around and saw a dark shape coming up on them from the south towards tiny Sunset Key. The long, thin boat was running with no lights and no clear markings, surely not a good sign. The scream of its engines cut through the lower throb of his boat and gave away the sheer horsepower of those who were fast approaching.

He'd let himself be distracted yet again and he cursed himself loudly. Laying in wait, the enemy had been, banking on the chance that Elizabeth would abandon the security of the island and thus become separated from those prepared to do battle on her behalf. Too late, it was, to call the others for assistance – by the time they arrived, the fight would have been decided.

"Hold tight!" he warned before he wrenched hard on the wheel and brought the boat around to bear northeast, slamming the throttle forward with the result that both Beth and the boy were tossed from their seats with startled cries. He wasn't sure he could outrace the other boat for long, but perhaps for long enough that he would make it through the Fleming Key Cut ahead of them and lose them in amongst all the pleasure craft that crowded the shallows.

Hector heard the crack of a rifle and the windshield of the Spectre shattered around him, tiny cubes of glass flying up and back. Too close for comfort, he thought as he ducked down and risked another backwards glance, ignoring the gash that had opened up on his cheek. They were coming up far faster than he'd anticipated, obviously determined to stop him before he could get Elizabeth to safety.

Another shot, louder but going wide. "'Lizabeth!" he shouted over the drone of the boats. "Open the hatch b'neath ye and crank the valve open!"

Hector swerved tightly around a sailboat and took off straight east towards the Cut. Elizabeth patted his leg to let him know she'd done as he asked and he pushed down on the red button on the dash. The burst of nitro into the engine shot them across the surface of the water and Hector had to wrap both hands around the wheel in order to stay upright on his feet.

He took a fast look over his shoulder and saw the other boat falling behind. The trick would likely end up burning the engine out of the Spectre, but it would buy them enough time to reach the marina at Garrison Bight and that's all he figured they needed.

As the effects of the nitrous began to fade, Hector came up fast on a long tour boat, meandering along beside the entrance to City Marina. He gunned the engine and shot in front of them, banking a sharp right into the tiny harbour, and earning shouts from the pilots and a blast of their horn as they voiced their displeasure.

The corroded smell of their engine followed them to the far slips and the Spectre began to sputter. Hector slid the vessel in between two large, dark and unoccupied cruisers and cut the engine. Turning, he saw Elizabeth and the boy, bruised up, tangled together amongst the seats and breathing hard.

"We haven't a moment! Grab yer things, we need to be movin'!" he hissed, leaning down to yank each of them to their feet. Pushing them up the ladder ahead of him, Hector could hear the approaching rumble as the other boat entered the marina and geared down.

He climbed onto the deck and staying low, scuttled over to where the next boat was berthed. The other two followed his lead and they crouched together behind the bow. "Listen up, boy," Hector growled lowly, grabbing the lad by the front of his shirt to ensure he held his attention. "Three be too many – ye must make yer own way once we reach the street. They'll not follow; it's not ye that they be wantin'."

The kid stubbornly set his jaw and gave Hector a look of fearful fortitude. Even if it annoyed him, he had to credit the youngster for not falling to pieces given their situation. "I'm not going to leave and have something terrible happen to Beth," he whispered indignantly. "We should wait it out here and call the cops on my cell."

"Brad," Beth said quietly, carefully prying Hector's fingers loose and giving him a look that told him it would be best to keep quiet, "Please don't worry about me. I promise you that I'll be safe. I need you to get back to the warehouse somehow and make sure everything is okay there. If you see anything – anyone – who doesn't belong, that's when I need you to call the police. Okay?"

The growl of the engine grew louder, the predator approaching slowly and steadily. "This be a delay we can ill afford," Hector warned, taking Elizabeth's arm. "They're on their way o'er here."

Brad looked torn, clearly struggling over concern for his boss and wanting to get himself away from what had to be a terrifying state of affairs. Finally he nodded and looked to Hector for direction. He stayed low, creeping along, and the others followed his example until they ran out of cover altogether.

"There! They've disembarked! Get them!" roared a man's voice, and the boat once again picked up speed.

"Move!" bellowed Hector and the three of them began a full out run up the pier towards the street. Pain knifed through his leg but he didn't slow, not when doing so could cost them all their lives. Gunfire erupted and the dock splintered below their feet, but they were far enough towards the road that an accurate shot from a boat bobbing about at water level was impossible. Eventually the bullets stopped and Hector knew they were following them up onto the dock.

Hector paused only for a moment when they reached the sidewalk before leading them into early evening traffic. The screech of brakes, more horns and more epithets assailed them from all sides but the angry words went unheeded as they dashed to the far side of Roosevelt Boulevard.

Facing the water was a shop that offered the rental of scooters, and Hector pointed Brad towards it, shoving a handful of bills into the boy's fist. "Get yerself o'er there and talk to the clerk. Act all nonchalant and no one'll pay ye any mind. Barter a way back to the warehouse and do as ye were told to by the lady, do ye understand?"

He didn't wait for a reply but grabbed Beth by her hand and dragged her around in back of a row of tiny shops that were busy with customers and lit with vivid neon colours. Behind the alley was a yard full of cars and he pulled her down with him, shuffling along in a crouch through the rows. There was the distant wail of a siren – someone must have reported the gunshots at the marina. Hector didn't think the arrival of the authorities would prove a detriment to the enemy; they didn't seem the type bothered with the rules of law. He knew it wouldn't stop _him_, not if he was truly determined to harm someone as deserved it. Say, Jack Sparrow, for instance.

He pulled Elizabeth back behind a cube van and sat on the cement for a moment, rubbing out the cramp that had seized his thigh. There were no hurried footsteps behind them, no sign that they'd been followed, and even though the prudent course of action would be to vacate the vicinity as quickly as possible, he needed a moment to gather his thoughts.

Elizabeth let out an uneven breath and he glanced over to see that her hands were shaking. She was wringing them, trying to stop the clear display of nerves, and her eyes were glassy. He reached over and wrapped both of her hands with one of his, squeezing gently until the trembling had nearly ceased. "Ye done just fine, girl," he murmured. "Might have been scared but ye kept yer head. Ye always have."

"I'm not scared," she whispered harshly, narrowing her eyes. "I'm fucking pissed off! These pricks have ruined my life and if I get even one chance at them, I'll make them eternally sorry for their efforts."

He smiled grimly. "Don't doubt that ye would, but we'll not be takin' the opportunity to do so this evenin'. T'is a fool as brings a knife to a gunfight, or so I've been told. Since that's all I happen to have on me person, we'll be beatin' a strategic retreat tonight."

She snorted. "And go where? Wisteria is out for now, at least until the crew is back and sober. And I wouldn't dare try either the dive site or the lab now – I'd be putting my people in even more danger."

"Don't ye trouble yerself o'er that, now. All we're in need of is transport and I think I've spotted somethin' that will suit." He eased himself up and took a quick look around the side of the van, seeing no one and hearing not a sound except that which spilled over from the crowds on the streets.

He motioned her forward and she took his hand once more, following as he slunk towards a dark and shady section of the lot. Yes, he'd been right – it was a bike alright, 'though not one he'd ever thought he'd be caught riding.

"Figures that when I'm most in need of a ride," he said with disgust as he looked at the 1978 Honda Goldwing, "there ain't nothing available but a barcalounger. Good thing I'll not be seein' the crew tonight – wouldn't e'er hear the end of it were I to be spotted on such a pretty bike. Might even get meself kicked out of the club o'er it."

"I don't see anything wrong with it," Beth whispered. "It actually looks very comfortable."

He gave her a wry look and shook his head in disappointment. "Ye be sayin' anythin' of that sort again and I'll be forced to revoke yer membership, lass. This ain't nothin' but a plaything fer them as _pretend_ to be bikers."

Hector pulled the knife from his boot and pried off the metal ignition cap, tugging on it until the wires were exposed. Elizabeth looked around furtively, likely more worried at being caught by the owner than she was at being taken surprise by those as were hunting them.

He cut the green and red wires, and used the edge of the knife to strip away the insulation until the copper was laid bare before he wrapped them tightly together. "Okay, 'Lizabeth. Climb aboard."

She looked at him as though he had lost his senses. "I'm not sure how to tell you this, Hector, but you haven't started the bike. What do you plan to do, push us to safety?"

"Why, ye must have done this before!" he said with mock delight. "Jus' get on the damned bike and hold onto the sissy bar. And not a sound that might attract attention– I'm not wantin' anyone, friend or foe, to see me astride this abomination."

"Oh, ha ha," she said, giving him a withering look as she climbed onto the posh leather seat. "You're a laugh riot, my Captain."

He gave the stand a kick and grabbed hold of the handlebars. "Weren't jokin', missy."

He put the bike into first gear and walked it down the dark alley, away from prying eyes. "Get ready," he warned. "Once she gets going, I'll be jumpin' on and off we go."

Elizabeth looked at him doubtfully but slid as far back on the seat as she could to ensure he had enough room to mount. Holding the clutch down, he started off running down the gravel-encrusted blacktop. When he figured he was finally going fast enough, he released the clutch and the purring motor hummed to life. Hector grinned broadly at the surprise on her face and then leapt onto the seat, revving the engine and propelling the Goldwing forward as she took hold of his hips.

As they reached the end of the asphalt strip and got ready to make their way southwest on Truman, Hector turned to look back down the alleyway. At the far end stood a dark figure of a man, his features lost in the gloom. There was the unmistakable outline of a rifle hanging at his side.

They'd been well within range and yet he'd not attempted to fire. Hector wasn't going to take the time to either think it through or give the bastard another chance. He put the bike into gear and roared away into the emerging night.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The night wasn't exactly cool but by the time they reached the wooded area just south of Fort Zachary Taylor, Beth found herself shivering against Hector's back. Maybe it was the breeze that whipped over her bare skin as they cruised through town...or maybe another day of living on the edge had frayed her last nerve. She wanted to crawl beneath the covers of her bed back on the_Morgan LeFay_ and lose herself in the cozy oblivion of her downy blankets, to sleep for days and awaken to realize that it had all been a bad dream.

But returning to her ship was out of the question...going back to Wisteria was not a possibility...and who knew if she'd ever see the beautiful old wreck again. She found herself entirely at loose ends and she hated it. It was one thing to be free to do as she wished without any real ties; it was another thing entirely to be shut out of her own life and all she held dear.

Well, not everything she held dear. Not the man who'd kept her from making the most foolish decision of her life. If she'd set off from the island without Hector, there was no knowing what might have happened to both her and Brad.

The thought caused her to tremble even more, both in anger and in fright. She could sure talk a good game about looking after herself but when she insisted on leaving the haven that was Wisteria, she had just about cost the three of them their lives. It was time to pack her pride away and admit to herself that she truly did need the protection that Hector provided.

She tightened her hold on his hips as he slowed the motorcycle to a stop near a stand of casuarinas. As he fiddled with the ignition wires, the faint smell of the Australian pines wafted on the air around them and the breaking of the tide upon the reef could be heard faintly through the trees. She carefully dismounted and let her knapsack drop to the ground, taking a few steps away from the bike and peering into the darkness towards the water. Beth rubbed her arms rapidly to stop herself from quaking like a leaf. Hector thought her brave and yet here she was, so visibly proving she was anything but.

Strong arms wrapped around her from behind and he pulled her into the warmth of his embrace. Beth waited for the recriminations but they didn't come; in fact, he didn't speak at all and she gradually relaxed against him, grateful for both the solid feel of his body around hers and the calming rhythms of the ocean.

It seemed impossible that he could understand her so well as to know what she needed from him and when she needed it most. Could Beth say the same, knowing as little as she did about him? Maybe, she thought, she knew all that really mattered. In retrospect, it seemed unfair and childish to have called into question his motives when his every action proved his feelings.

"What are we going to do?" she said, laying her hands over top of his forearms and holding tightly.

"Tonight we'll be keepin' our heads down. Tomorrow, we'll see if'n we can't get Jack to impart a bit of helpful information. I can be convincin' when need be, don't ye fret," he said angrily, the words rumbling against her back. "We'll find our answers yet and put an end to this duplicity once an' fer all."

Beth didn't doubt for a moment that Hector could be brutally persuasive, or that he would likely take no small pleasure in extracting from Jack Sparrow the nature of his involvement. But even if he did find out who it was that was hunting her, she wasn't sure she could bear to let Hector put himself into the line of fire for her sake again...being able to heal quickly wasn't going to do him much good if they managed to kill him. Then she truly would have lost everything.

"Maybe I should abandon the wreck," she suggested quietly. "I'll pull my people out and hand over the antiquities we've found, and then let Jack know where to find the dive site. Whoever is doing this will have what they want and there'll be no need for anyone else to get hurt."

Hector growled and whirled her around in his arms. "I'll not be hearin' that, girl. Slink away in fear and ye'll not be able to live with yerself. S'what they want...s'what they expect a _woman_ to do. Are ye gonna give 'em the satisfaction of knowin' they could take what be rightfully yers and without resistance?"

"Why not? They're just _things_! Little pieces of a lost era and most certainly not something worth dying for!"

"Then tell me this," he said, his lips pursed and his eyes sparking cobalt in the moonlight. "Why do ye search fer them pieces at all? If'n they mean so little, what is it as compels ye to pull them from the sea?"

"Because they're a part of history! And if we lose that tie to the past, how can we ever really know ourselves?" she asked in exasperation. It confused her that her suggestion to give the attackers what they were after made him so mad. It seemed a simple solution to their problem and so what if she had to start over again somewhere else?

He backed her up until she could feel the bark of a tree press against her spine, the earnest intensity on his face causing her trembling to start again. "Just a tie to the past, 'Lizabeth? Or a tie to_yer_ past?"

Beth's eyes widened in shock. How could he know? She'd never told anyone of the sense of familiarity that sometimes came upon her when she took an old coin into her hand or carefully cleaned the concretion from the bits of an ancient pistol. At times it was a recognition so strong that it almost seemed a memory as opposed to something about which she'd only read. The need to capture that type of intimate feeling – it's why she did what she did. Why she'd always been drawn to the sea and its secrets.

He eyed her knowingly. "Aye, that's the thing, ain't it? Ye know there be a part of ye missin', somethin' lost that calls to ye. Each wreck ye discover, each piece of treasure...'tis not fer the sake of history ye return, time and again. Ye search for yerself."

"That's absurd," she stammered without any conviction at all – it seemed the thing to say, though.

"Don't that taste a lie in yer mouth, lass?" he said dubiously. "Ye want honesty from me, but yer disinclined to speak it yerself?"

"Even if I told you that it sometimes seems that way," she admitted reluctantly, feeling foolish that she'd put even that much into words, "that doesn't mean it's worth risking life and limb over. There will always be another wreck, another chance to explore."

Hector slowly shook his head, cupping her face in his hand and caressing the high bone of her cheek with the tips of his fingers. "There be none other like this one, girl. This ship...she be the one ye been searching fer."

Beth was baffled at his certainty. "You've only seen her once through a muddy camera shot. How could you know anything about her?"

"Told ye before, didn't I, that there weren't anyone who knew better what ye'd find on yer dive than I. I've a history with the _Pearl_...as do ye."

"Wait..._what?_" she asked, shaking her head, utterly mystified. "I don't understand what you're trying to say. Did you say the _Pearl_? The ship that you and Jack were fighting about...that can't be the same one. The ship we found has been sitting on the bottom for hundreds of years."

He regarded her with stormy blue eyes, fighting for the right words and seemingly on the cusp of a decision. "I've somethin' to be showin' ye; 'tis why I brought ye here. Before I reveal it to ye, though, I need ye to know," he said, his voice low and solemn, "whate'er 'tis ye discover...always have I loved ye."

Hector leaned in and kissed her softly, slipping his hand around to cradle the back of her head so it wouldn't strike the tree as his mouth took hers with aching tenderness. There was no urgency, no fiery passion; in fact, it was a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Beth's heart suddenly squeezed in panic.

"I don't want to see it, whatever it is!" she gasped, pulling back from him and seeing the sadness on his face. "I don't care anymore if I know the truth...not if it means ruining what we have. Hector, please."

"'Lizabeth," he began, the heartbreak already dulling his eyes and confirming her fears. "There be no takin' it back..."

"No! Not right now. Not after everything that happened today," Beth pleaded, needing to ease the pain that had settled like a stone in her chest. For reasons she couldn't explain even to herself, she knew without doubt that seeing what he had to show her would change everything. She simply wasn't ready to face that. "Maybe tomorrow..."

He took her firmly by her upper arms, his face darkening with anger. "Ye can't put the genie back in the bottle, missy! Ready to walk away today, weren't ye, demandin' that I give to ye all as had been kept back. And so shall I accommodate ye and aye, there'll be consequences, but understand that ye've set us upon a course that cannot be altered. I give the helm o'er to ye, 'Lizabeth and say to ye now– hollow be yer affections if yer not willin' to see past the end of yer own nose! Can't force ye to face the truth, but I'll not go forth without ye havin' done so. Me spirit be weary from carryin' the burden alone."

Beth's face flushed red with shame. She had pushed him for the truth despite his reluctance to share and so had no right to refuse when it was finally offered. "You're right," she said quietly, her shoulders sagging. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that burned behind. "I have to know what's going on, like it or not. Show me."

Hector gathered her close, resting his chin on the crown of her head as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. A sob escaped her throat despite her attempt to stifle it and she wrapped her arms tightly around him. What had she done? What had she been thinking when she'd lashed out at him earlier? Beth thought she had been afraid during the earlier pursuit and narrow escape, but that feeling paled in comparison to the cold, tight tentacles of fear that lashed at her heart with the thought of what lay ahead...and what it would mean for the two of them.

* * *

The moon had waned over the course of the week and the night was nowhere near as bright as it had been only a few days earlier. The dark didn't give Hector any pause, though, as he led her down a craggy, root-strewn path through the woods. Once or twice she stumbled over a rock or an errant log, but he caught her up before she fell and guided her silently towards the rocky beach.

They came upon a boulder, worn and beaten by the waves. Hector placed himself directly east of the rock and started taking carefully measured steps back towards the trees, counting under his breath. When he'd taken nine strides, he pivoted on his heel and disappeared into an outgrowth of bush. Beth followed tentatively behind him, tracking him by the noise he made moving through the vegetation rather than by sight.

She finally found Hector by nearly tumbling over him as he knelt in a shadowy glade, sweeping sand and grit away from around a group of smooth stones. Crouching down beside him, she saw that he was clearing dirt away from the ridges of a much larger stone, almost as though he was trying to dig it out of the earth. Beth watched carefully as the shape of a square became apparent through his efforts and it finally hit her that it was a doorway of some kind.

For a moment she thought about kidding Hector about digging for buried treasure, but a dark and anxious mood hung over them both, and there really didn't seem to be much to joke about. Even without laying her eyes on its contents, whatever was beneath the stone slab made her nervous.

Hector forced his dagger in between the dirt and the stone, scraping at the last of the encrusted soil. Slamming on the hilt of the knife with his palm, he drove it down further and then began to pry the stone loose from its well-settled position.

Beth's heart jumped when the rock moved and made a harsh grating sound that echoed below. Using the knife as a lever, Hector widened the gap enough that he could slip his fingers under the slab and then with a grunt, began to slide it over to the side. Finally letting it fall with a dull thud against the ground, he stood up, breathing heavily and wiping at his brow.

There was nothing to see but a hole, deep and completely devoid of light. Beth leaned over slightly, trying to peer through the impenetrable blackness. A slightly musty smell emanated from the pit and there was a distant sound of trickling water. A subterranean cave, perhaps, formed naturally from the limestone foundation that made up most of Florida's bedrock.

A sudden gust of cold air swept up out of the hole and caused Beth to jerk back, shivering as her hair flew up around her face. It almost seemed to laugh as it twirled around them and Hector glared up into the night, a frown on his face as the phantom gale caught strands from his ponytail and whipped them around his head. The wind moved off as quickly as it had come upon them, blowing back towards the ocean and leaving an eerie calm in the little glen.

"What was that?" she whispered. To her ear, the sound on the air had been almost human. Maybe even feminine.

"A bit of a warnin'," he huffed with a surly tone. "Ain't meant fer ye, so ye needn't worry o'er it."

"A warning from whom?"

He ignored her as he hunkered down and slipped his legs over the edge so that they dangled into the darkness. "Yer to stay here, 'Lizabeth. I'll return when 'tis safe for ye to follow."

Beth shook her head, her stomach tying itself into worried knots. "I don't like this, Hector," she said, grasping his shoulder. "These kinds of underground caverns can flood without any notice and you'd be trapped with no way out. I'd never be able to find help in time to save you. Please just tell me what's down there. You don't have to show me...I'll believe you."

"Faith alone won't do the trick here, girl," he said, laying his warm palm over top of hers for a moment as he gazed back up at her. "What's down below, ye must see with yer own two eyes. Besides," he went on, bracing himself against the edge of the hole with his hands, his muscles bulging as he held himself aloft, "this here grotto ain't e'er flooded...carefully chosen, it was, to keep undisturbed that which we stowed within."

With that, he released his hold and dropped into the obscurity of the cave. Beth heard his boots thud against the bottom and a moment later saw a small flare cast a momentary silhouette on the floor around him. Hector moved deeper into the dim space below and she lost sight of him entirely as the sound of his footsteps faded away.

She sat down and looped her arms around her knees, staring into the hole while she waited for him to come back. The permeating quiet of the night was unnerving...there should have been a swift breeze off the ocean, the sound of night birds or at the very least, the pounding of the surf. It had all faded into nothingness once the slab had been moved, though, and she felt like she was trapped in some sort of bubble.

Seconds ticked by and then minutes, and Beth shifted restlessly as she perched over the stony shaft. So gradually that she almost didn't realize it was happening, a glow started to spill over into the space below as she watched. It was warm looking and reminiscent of firelight, painting shadows that undulated and grew increasingly more erratic as she watched. The pattern of darkness against light became mesmerizing and so it came as more than a surprise to her when from out of the gloom, two thick wooden struts were thrust up through the opening and propped against the edge.

Beth pressed her hand against her heart, trying to calm the racing beat within her chest as Hector regarded her from the bottom of a long, rather primitive ladder. "Mind yer step. The slats be none too stable but ye weigh next to nothin', so ye should be fine."

She had to fight a sudden impulse to turn and run, so strong were her trepidations. Before she could break her word to Hector, though, she reached out to grasp the dry and cracked sides of the ladder, swinging her legs over one at a time to shift her weight to the rungs. The wood creaked a bit beneath her but seemed to hold okay, and she finally began her descent.

Hector grasped her around her hips as she got closer to the ground, making sure she alighted safely on her feet. Wordlessly he took her hand and led her into an arched tunnel. The craggy walls and roof around them glowed with faint phosphorescence that made the path seem otherworldly and along the way she was almost sure she caught the glimmer of yellow metal in the gritty brown dust at their feet.

Ancient-looking torches affixed to the rough walls were the source of the illumination she'd seen from above, the smell of burning rag and rancid oil hovering around them as they walked. Threads of greasy smoke rose sinuously from the ends and would have stained the ceiling had it not already been coated with soot.

They came to a bend in the tunnel and Hector stopped her short, a mixture of excitement and dread on his face. "What lies before us, 'Lizabeth, has not been looked upon for nigh on two hundred years. But 'tis part of yer story, same as the _Pearl_...same as meself."

"If no one has seen it for that long, how do _you_ know what's in there?" Beth whispered.

"All yer answers lay just beyond," he rejoined, his expression guarded. "In ye go and reclaim that part of yerself as has been hidden fer so long."

Hector squeezed her hand and then let it go, moving back out of the way so she could pass by him. Beth's hands trembled ever so slightly with foreboding but she stepped forward anyway into the unknown.

The tunnel opened up into a vast cavern. More torches brightened the scene, 'though these were stuck upon poles and shoved hastily around the space into loose mounds of sand. In the dim light she could see a high-domed ceiling, the limestone variegated with streaks of green and grey. There were rough openings that let the starlight seep through the hall, cool beams of silver that complimented the warm golden glow of the fire.

The sound of water was louder now and Beth saw an underground river that ran through the place, hewing an oblong island from the sandy base of the cavern. It wasn't overly humid, though, and she understood that the uneven chunks had likely been cut from the top of the cavern to ensure that the place stayed dry.

Once her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she let out a shocked gasp and stumbled backwards a few steps. It was as though she'd walked onto the set of a "Treasure Island" remake. Swaths of rich tapestries and Oriental silks spilled from barrels. Coins made of precious metals overflowed cracked and broken chests, and fire threw a rainbow of colours across the walls from the casks of gemstones that rested at odd angles through the room. Flasks and trays, candelabra and weaponry of every description caught the gleam of the torches and made everything she'd ever recovered from a sunken wreck look like so much trash.

The archaeologist in her took over and she ran into the midst of the trove, leaping onto the sandbar and then falling to her knees to dig a heavy golden cross buried haphazardly amongst many other priceless items.

"This is Spanish," she said with awe, her fingers flitting lightly over the religions engravings. "Early eighteenth century, brought to the new world by crusaders on their way to South America."

"Aye," said Hector, taking up a seat on a nearby closed chest. "Many a Spanish ship gave up her pricy church-bound cargo to marauders in hopes of barterin' mercy. Armed they were, but no match for those as made fightin' a way of life."

Beth placed it gently down only to have her eye drawn to a tarnished silver goblet. "This is Elizabethan!" she cried, seizing it in her hands and turning it over. "It bears the Queen's emblem!"

Hector crossed his arms and shrugged. "Family heirloom, perhaps. Long dead was the Virgin Queen before that'd have been plundered from the hold of a British ship."

She got to her feet again, whirling as she tried to take it all in. Her eyes fell upon a sword and a jolt that felt like recognition hit her hard. Slowly she approached and tugged it from where it had been thrust into a trunk full of coins.

Hector stood and walked slowly towards where she stood. "And what have ye to say of that?"

"It's...I don't know. It almost looks Asian..." she said slowly, turning it over to examine the simple bronze hilt adorned with short wings and the long, straight blade. If she had her books with her, she likely could have identified it more quickly, but the feeling persisted that she knew the sword...not just the classification but the specific weapon she had in her hand. Its weight felt familiar, the grip fit her palm as though made for her and the flash of the steel in the light...she could almost hear the clash of metal and the battle cries of desperate men.

He gave her a knowing smile, nodding. "Right ye be. T'is a _jian_ as belonged to the Pirate Lord of the South China Sea...King of the Brethren Court, too, as a matter of fact. Seen action, so it has...the pirate as wielded that there weapon cut down many a foe with a ferocity and passion unequalled. Led a glorious battle against mercenaries of the East India Trading Company...had them turnin' tail and fleein' fer their lily-livered lives before the day was done."

Beth grabbed an empty velvet bag that she spotted at her feet and wiped the blade down, gently cleaning off the years of neglect to reveal its glistening surface. As she wiped from hilt to tip, she caught her reflection in the shining metal. By some trick of the light, her face appeared younger and her hair lank, as though soaking wet. She squinted to get a clearer look and her simple yellow blouse seemed to morph into a traditional Chinese garment with a mandarin collar, surrounded with silver brocade and protected with a leather chest guard of some kind...

_"What the enemy will see is the flash of our cannons, they will hear the ring of our swords and they will know what we can do!"_

Upon hearing the cry, she spun and frantically sought its source. The declaration echoed in her ears even as she came to recognize her own voice. She gripped the sword tightly and stared down at it wide-eyed. Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage...her imagination was getting the best of her. That had to be it. There was no other explanation, 'though she looked to Hector and sought an answer in his anxious face.

_"More speed! Haul your wind and hold your water!"_

It wasn't her speaking this time, but the singsong voice with the West Country accent was unmistakable. Only the words hadn't come from Hector...he hadn't opened his mouth at all.

Her breathing turned shallow as her panic began to grow. Perhaps there was some kind of noxious gas in the cavern that was making her hear things, see things that simply weren't there. As if to prove the point, Hector reached out towards where she stood and as his hand crossed through a dusty pillar of moonlight, the flesh disappeared and all she saw was desiccated bone entwined with shrivelled sinew.

Beth shrieked and floundered backwards away from him, helpless to stop herself from doing so but feeling her heart break even as his eyes filled with hurt. The scream resounded off the walls of the chamber around them and gradually faded away.

"What the hell is going on?" she sobbed, falling into a drift pile of coins. They tinkled like chimes as they rolled down the slope towards the water.

He took a step forward before seeming to think better of strolling through the cold shaft of light again and instead walked around it. Crouching at her feet, he stretched out a cautious hand towards her. Beth's stomach tied itself in knots as his fingers settled on her knee, but it was just him...his warm, strong hand on her bare flesh. With her free hand she grabbed at his, determined to hold onto something real and solid.

"What's going on around ye, what ye be seein'...none of it be happenin', not now. Echoes of the past, is all, and nothin' as can harm ye," he said in a low voice, talking to her as though trying to calm a frightened child.

"Do you see it...hear it...too?" she asked hopefully, her heart sinking as he shook his head slowly.

"Nay, but ain't hard fer me to guess what it is as appears to ye."

_"I love you! I've made my choice. What's yours?"_ asked the disembodied voice of her ex-husband, the heartfelt appeal shaking her to her core.

"Barbossa!" she cried out and then gasped at the sight of the man squatting in front of her. Elizabeth tore her hand away from his and scuttled back from him as quickly as she could, sending pieces of treasure flying in her wake as she brandished her sword once again.

"Welcome back, Miss Swann," he said grimly before his chin slumped against his chest and he buried his head in his hands.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

He'd been an idiot to allow her to see the depth of his love, Hector decided morosely as he watched Elizabeth pick her way through the treasure trove in search of more familiar objects. She carefully kept her distance, casting surreptitious glances as if worried what he might do if she turned her back for even a moment. Every mistrustful look cut him to the quick and made him lament ever letting her close enough to his heart to wound him so.

Better it would have been if from the beginning, he'd simply seduced her and slaked his baser urges. He'd grown greedy, though, consumed by a desire for more than just her body. Arrogant he'd been to pretend that he'd meant anything to Elizabeth Swann. He'd been right to question her from the moment of that very first kiss...she felt beholden to him because he was her protector at a time when she had no other. Had it been Jack Sparrow who'd pulled her from the storm-tossed waters, it would have been that oily rat warming her sheets instead. Hector had been convenient and little more.

No matter, he thought as his jaw tightened. He was committed to see his duties through to the end, as promised to the goddess. When Elizabeth was well and truly safe, he'd gather up his men and set a course for new waters, far enough away that he'd not have to worry over catching sight of her either through accident or design. He had forever to tend to his hurts and the scars he'd carry forward would prove a strident reminder of the folly of heeding the call of one's heart.

Until such time as that came to pass, though, he had no choice but to remain vigilant on her behalf. And trapped he was with her in the cavern, with no other option until such time as he could contact the crew and arrange for a proper security detail. No doubt that Elizabeth would rail against the increased watch and limited freedom, but the events of the day were proof positive of their vulnerability. And even if she didn't love him, he was not so small a man that he would put her at risk simply out of spite.

He gazed upon the girl as she knelt before the chest in which he'd stored his ancient apparel from his days aboard the _Pearl_. Ratty and torn though his clothing had been when at last he'd set it aside, he'd not wanted to part with it. It was stupid sentimentality unbecoming a pirate, but each piece had its place in his own history and so he'd kept the ensemble as a sort of journal. A French nobleman's hat, a British governor's long waistcoat, the frock coat of a wealthy Belgian merchant, the fine mustard-coloured baldric that was a favour from a Spanish bishop's sister...each with its own story, from the battleground to the bed chamber.

The serpent necklace Elizabeth had taken into her hands was one he'd taken from the hold of a Persian vessel following a hard-fought victory off the Pirate Coast. Whenever he'd worn the pendant thereafter, it had brought him luck during a fight and so it had become a habit to keep it around his neck at all times. The blood red stone at its centre caught the light from the torches and seemed to glow as Elizabeth traced the dull, metallic curves of the snake with her finger.

"You could start your own museum with what you have hidden away here," she said quietly. The shape of the room carried her voice, though, and he had no trouble hearing what she'd said. "Or you could sell it to private collectors and never have to worry about money again."

"I've no interest in showin' it off," he grunted, "and as fer sellin' it...well, 'tis not so easy a thing to do nowadays. Attracts all kind of scrutiny, and of an official sort at that. A few items at a time and in different locations – 'tis the best way to dispose of such swag as we possess. Wouldn't want to catch the attention of the authorities and be accused of stealin' it."

Elizabeth dared a direct look at him and smiled wryly. "But you did steal it, didn't you?"

"Nay, took it fair and square. Call it a toll fer passage, if'n ye like, one that could be paid up front or exacted in a manner as we saw fit. Besides," he went on, taking a few steps towards her, "the original owners ain't exactly in a position to lodge a complaint now, are they?"

She flinched as he approached and his temper flared despite all attempts to keep a firm hold on his anger. "Weren't an hour ago ye were holdin' onto me and cryin' about not wantin' to lose me, Miss Swann," he growled between clenched teeth, his fingers curling up into frustrated fists at his side. "Best remember, 'tis ye as has changed and not I. I'll not have ye cowerin' before me when I've done naught to earn it. Stuck with me ye be fer now and I'll be thankin' ye to put a stop to such childish antics."

The high colour on her cheeks signalled her embarrassment, and she stammered for a response. "You're right, Captain...Hector. I'm sorry. But I've got all these memories rushing in on me and a hundred conflicting feelings, and I just don't know what to do with it all." She looked at him with genuine despair on her face. "I'm trying very hard to reconcile who you are now with the man you used to be..."

"Or _what_ I used to be?" he snarled, turning from her. "Is that what yer leavin' unsaid?" He looked down at his fingers, flexing them and trying to reassure himself again that what she'd seen in the moonlight had been an illusion brought forth by memory and nothing more.

Hector heard her drop the jewellery back into the chest and move close behind him. For a moment he dared to hope that she'd touch him...that he'd feel the familiar and welcome caress of her fingers upon his shoulder, but it didn't come. His heart fell into new depths of misery at the loss.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, her voice husky with emotion. "Do you think this isn't killing me, knowing that I'm hurting you and not being able to help it? Would it be better if I lied to you and let you believe that the past...our past...didn't matter at all?"

"What's another lie when ye've already fed me so many?" Hector said, turning to glare chillingly down at her. He took some small satisfaction in the wounded shock Elizabeth wore upon hearing his words.

"What are you talking about?" she stammered. "When have I ever lied to you?"

He stepped up as close as he could without actually touching her and watched as she fought the urge to back away, her chin stiffening stubbornly. "How often did ye speak of yer affection fer me? How many times did ye tell me that there was nothin' as could change the truth that ye held in yer heart? Ye said what ye had to, didn't ye, to keep me close and defendin' ye against yer attackers? Fool I was to believe that the high an' mighty 'Lizabeth Swann could harbour feelins' fer one such as me."

Her breathing had turned shallow and a tear ran unchecked over her cheek. "You're only saying that to be cruel. You don't believe it for a second. I _never_ held back the truth from you...and that's a lot more than you can say."

"Oh aye, and how do ye suppose that conversation would have begun? 'By the way, 'Lizabeth, I was an undead pirate lord 'round about three hundred years ago, hope that don't deter ye from wantin' to fuck me.' Yer right – that would have made everythin' just fine!"

Elizabeth let go a strangled sob as she struggled for words. Her sorrow was lost on the hard, cold edge of his anger, though. She was right...he was being deliberately cruel. He wanted her to feel the same raw grief that was tearing out the very heart of him.

"What are you trying to do? Prove that you're just as much of a heartless bastard now as you were when you were under the curse?" she rasped, her own fist balled up in fury and pain. "Well, congratulations! Mission accomplished, _Captain_ Barbossa!"

She whirled away from him but Hector grabbed her by her wrist and jerked her back. "Ye'll not turn yer back on me, missy!"

With a cry of anger and her eyes wide, Elizabeth turned and swung towards him, her hand curled into a claw and intent on scratching his eyes from his face. He caught her by the forearm before she ever found her target and held her tight. She tugged hard for a time, trying to free herself from his powerful grasp but he refused to relent and tightened his fingers until she whimpered in pain. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, determined as he was not to let her go lest she slip from his control once and for all. How much better it would be to hate her now...to not give a care about what became of her, whether she lived or died.

"Please..." she begged in a hoarse whisper, her arms trembling as she gave up the fight. She looked up at him with soft and pleading eyes. "Hector, please...why are we doing this?"

In that instant, she was his Elizabeth again and he released his hold on her, stepping back as the horror of his actions squeezed his chest hard. She was right to see him as she did– he was a monster, just as much as he had been when the Aztec gold had robbed him of all humanity...of all decency. How close had he come to wounding her, to letting his rage get the better of him despite his vow to keep her safe?

Hector stalked away, overcome with a need to strike out at something. Spotting the trunk packed with his effects, he roared and kicked it savagely, sending it tumbling down over the ancient cache of gold and silver. As the clothes and jewellery spilled from within, he was filled with new hatred for each item...each thing that had reminded her of what he was and so made him contemptible in her eyes.

A tear of his own slid unwelcomed down his weathered face and he sat down heavily, his elbows resting on his knees and his arms dangling between his legs. It wouldn't work – she couldn't remain nearby and have him still discharge his duties effectively. There had to be a way to keep her out of harm's way without having to endure her presence.

"At first light, I want ye to contact either Turner or Norrington," he rumbled, turning his head so she'd not see his weakness and in so doing find further fault in his character. "Both be in a better position to keep ye hidden and safe than I. Find the enemy I will, but I can't bear to keep ye close by any longer. Can't allow..._this_...to divert me from what must be done."

"I know it's hard," she said, her words thick with sadness. "Things are so mixed up right now...maybe we should just take some time to figure it out..."

His insides twisted painfully. "Ain't nothin' to figure. Ye love me or ye don't – 'tis a simple thing to know one's own heart. And if e'er ye did – if that feelin' had been there before I revealed yer past to ye – ye'd have said the words already and so I might have held onto some small hope. But there be a reason ye kept it back and I can't go on waitin' fer that which ain't meant to be. If ye care fer me at all, ye'll go and without a fuss as will only make it worse fer both of us."

A few heartbeats of tortuous silence followed before she spoke. "If you truly want me to go, then I will. " She took a hesitant step towards him, coins scattering under her feet as she approached. "Hector, I never meant to cause you such pain. I wish I could give you what you need from me."

He glanced back at her to see she was reaching tentatively towards him, and he quickly moved out of her reach. Completely undone he'd be if she touched him now…where only moments before he'd wanted it more than just about anything, he could no longer abide the thought at all. "Wishin' won't make it so, Miss Swann" he said flatly, straightening his shoulders and reclaiming his pride insofar as he could. "And 'tis best for all involved if yer somewhere they can't get to ye. Rest now, as best ye can…mornin' approaches quickly. I'll keep watch from the tunnel and leave ye to yerself."

Hector could feel her eyes on his back as he made his way out of the cavern and back to the passageway but resisted the impulse to take one last look at the only woman to whom he'd ever really given himself over. Best for everyone for her to be far from the fight, he told himself again, and he could almost make himself believe it to be so.

* * *

The grey, murky morning had been more suited to the mood of the day than if the sun had been beaming down upon them. Better it had been, too, to cover Elizabeth's exodus from the Keys and back to mainland Florida with Deputy Norrington as a more-than-eager escort. The smug look stuck upon the marshal's face as he led her towards the police boat had galled Hector to no end, but he didn't give the man the satisfaction of anything other than a blank look in return.

Twice before the boat had departed, Elizabeth had tried to talk to him but he successfully avoided any meaningful conversation and in the end, she'd simply given up. Hector had silently handed her the kit bag she'd brought along as her boy Jim waited patiently by, and she stared at Hector long and hard as though waiting for something more. He had nothing more to give her, though, and he'd not had the will to pretend at niceties before she turned and let Norrington guide her down the dock.

He'd stood with his arms tightly locked together and watched them as they disappeared into the fog. The girl didn't turn back to catch a last glimpse and that suited him just fine. Last thing he'd needed was the weight of remorse…hers or his...to distract him from what he had to do upon returning to Wisteria. He felt sure that the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest would fade once he applied himself to his duties and banished all thoughts of the night before from his mind.

Briefly had he contemplated having one of his men come and pick him up from the Fort as well, but in the end he'd decided to take the pathetic excuse for a bike that he'd borrowed and return to the Garrison Bight Marina to retrieve the Spectre. The boat's engine had been damaged, no doubt about it, but with enough persuasion and not just a few choice curses, it had reluctantly turned over and he'd taken the long, slow sojourn back to his island. His crew would make repairs upon the vessel at their leisure.

The island was quiet when he docked, the usual sounds of birds and waves stifled by the thick, swirling mist. He wasn't surprised that activity was at a minimum; he had, after all, granted shore leave to all but a few of his men, and most were likely still recovering from a spectacular overindulgence in wine and spirits. For a moment, Hector envied his men the sweet oblivion that drink had provided them and decided that perhaps he'd pursue a bit of the same relief once his task was completed. It wasn't something he normally did, drinking to excess, but it might just provide a welcome respite as the evening came and thoughts about Elizabeth were sure to arrive unbidden.

The dampness of the dock muffled his footsteps as he made for Marilyn's trawler; he'd told his men to leave Jack there. After suggesting that finding Sparrow aboard the _Corazón Perdido_again would result in a keel hauling for those derelict in their duties, Hector didn't doubt that Jack would be in residence, if not passed out upon the very floor where Marilyn had died and Hector nearly so.

What he certainly didn't expect when he stepped into the cabin was to see Jack rifling through the contents of Marilyn's fridge in the galley and looking none the worse for wear as he hummed under his breath, _"And really bad eggs...drink up me hearties, yo ho!"_.

For a moment Hector was simply too stunned to say anything and stood in the doorway, sputtering incredulously. "What in blazes do ye think yer doin?"

Jack stood up straight, flashing a wicked grin as he balanced an impossible armload of jars, containers, meat and cheese. He gave the refrigerator door a bump with his hip and wandered over to the table, dropping items along the way. "Morning, Hector. What say you to a bit of breakfast?"

Hector narrowed his eyes at the younger man. Damned if he wasn't wearing some kind of paisley robe from Marilyn's closet that gaped open to reveal far more of Sparrow than he'd ever wanted to see. "I've not much of an appetite anymore, thanks to ye." He grimaced before averting his eyes with a grunt of disgust.

Jack smiled in understanding and tugged the robe closed, cinching up the belt to cover himself. "Sorry 'bout that, mate. Didn't mean to make you feel so inadequate and so early in the day, too."

"Thought you'd be a bit later in wakin'," Hector replied, acknowledging Jack's taunt with nothing more than a withering look. He went back and closed the door at the bottom of the stairs, throwing the bolt and securing the latch with more force than was strictly necessary. The anger over the past evening's events roiled beneath the surface of calm he presented, 'though it took all the restraint he could muster not to strangle Jack where he stood for his betrayal.

If Jack was alarmed at being locked in, he didn't show it. "It would seem that I've lost some of my taste for rum. Likely have your bonnie lass to thank for that...seeing her brought back all sorts of bad memories. Don't get yourself trapped on an island alone with her, is my best advice. Oh, wait...guess I have you to thank for that, too." Jack slumped down upon the bench and helped himself to a hunk of cheese.

"Could have done far worse to ye," Hector said peevishly, crossing his arms over his chest and coming closer so he could loom over Jack. "Could have sent ye to the crushing depths along with ol' Bootstrap. Ye would have been fine company fer one another, awaiting Jones' special brand of mercy. I don't doubt he'd have reached ye before ye had the chance to drown – ye always were one of his particular favourites."

The glint in Jack's eye was no longer of mirth, but of malice. "Perhaps instead of treading on such dangerous ground, Barbossa, you should be back aboard your ship and slipping Miss Swann a bit of the morning wood. A very little bit, granted..."

With a howl of pain-filled rage, Hector grabbed Jack by the slippery collar of the robe and bunched it into his hands, tightening it around Jack's neck and lifting him choking from his place at the table. "I be done playing games with ye, ye scabrous mutt! Tried to have us killed last night when we left Wisteria, didn't ye, and just from plain ol' luck were we able to make our escape without injury! Ye'll tell me now who yer workin' fer or I'll reach down yer throat and rip yer balls out from the inside!"

Jack's eyes showed white in his head and he sucked in breath through his clenched teeth as he struggled in Hector's grasp. When he tried to choke out a few words, Hector twisted the fabric in his hand again until Jack's face started to turn purple and his body started to slump. As Hector gradually loosened his hold – regretfully acknowledging to himself that few dead men were capable of confession – Jack's knee came up and smashed into his injured thigh with enough force that blinding agony drove Hector to the floor.

He tried to hold on through the pain, but he'd lost his focus enough that Jack was able to wrench himself free and stagger across the cabin. Hector righted himself by using the table, and glared across the room where Jack wheezed and tried to pull in enough breath to speak.

"Leave...it...to you," Jack gasped out, his voice barely a croak, "...to do...something as incredibly...stupid...as leave...the...island…without anyone…to back you…up."

"Ye knew we were goin'," hissed Hector, dropping down onto the bench involuntarily vacated by Jack, wincing at the renewed throbbing in his thigh. "Ye set us up. Heard ye on the phone with 'em, we did, so there be no use in denyin' it."

"I _am_ denying it," Jack retorted roughly, rolling his eyes and massaging his bruised throat. "Had no idea at all you'd planned to leave. Thought you resolved that business with Lizzie when you stuck your tongue down her throat and tried to lick her gullet." He clenched his stomach and looked sickened at the thought.

"Yer workin' with 'em! No way they'd know where to find us without ye!"

"Pretending!" Jack said, his eyes flaring wide and his hands extended out in front of him, trying to reassure Hector. "_Pretending_ to work with them! They're after something far more valuable than mere treasure and in order to get to it before they do, I needed to feign cooperation, savvy? Besides, it doesn't' take a genius to find out where the Blackhearts make berth. Hate to break it to you, but your lot ain't exactly subtle. Once the villains figured that you'd extended your protection to Miss Swann, it was only a matter of time before they made their move. Trust you to present them with the perfect opportunity. Have I mentioned yet how incredibly _stupid_ it was to sail off without preparations against possible attack?"

"And what be yer part in their grand plans, Sparrow? What profit is there in it fer ye to act on their behalf, even if yer only goin' through the motions? And who the deuce be _'they'_?" Hector stood, testing the strength in his leg. A bit of an ache remained, but with the marks he left upon Jack's neck, he supposed it made the two of them even.

"Not sure as I'll be sharing that with you yet, Hector. Last time I gave too freely of my secrets, I ended up all alone on a little spit of land, watching you sail off into the distance with my ship. I will tell you this, though…" Jack turned to stare coldly at him, all humour fading away. "We do NOT want them to get their hands on it. Could well be the end for both of us if they do."

Hector huffed, reluctantly and somewhat wistfully foregoing his plans to beat Jack senseless. "And the object they seek…they're believin' Elizabeth holds the key to its location?"

"It's where it's been since a certain someone sank the _Black Pearl_…beneath the wreckage and awaiting discovery. What they don't know is where the _Pearl_ is, and that's the reason they need Lizzie."

Hector gaped at Jack in shock. "Yer not speakin' of the mirror, are ye?" As soon as he said it, he inwardly cursed himself for that same stupidity of which Jack had accused him.

Jack's dark eyes narrowed in consideration. "Ah. You've already found it, then. Not that you have any idea what you're dealing with, but one can only hope you had the presence of mind to hide it well."

"Ne'er was such a thing aboard the _Pearl_," Hector said suspiciously, purposely not answering Jack's veiled query about the present location of the mirror. The scurvy swine wasn't the only one smart enough to keep things to himself. "I knew me ship, inside an' out. Must have been put there after she went down."

Sighing heavily, Jack found a seat once again and started picking at the food he'd raided from the cold box. "It had been there on _my_ ship for some time, but only those as knew about it could see it. Bewitched against prying eyes and all that, at least until she who cast the spell chose to lift it. Why do you think Beckett was so anxious to keep the _Pearl_ for himself? Honestly, man – have you not been paying any attention at all?"

Hector stared at him, trying to piece together the meandering logic that Jack had laid out. "_She_, ye say? Calypso has her hand in this?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You can't tell me you're surprised."

Shaking his head, Hector took the seat opposite Jack. He rubbed at his chin as he thought it out. "Ain't anythin' surprises me about her…just can't leave well enough alone, can she?"

Twisting open a jar of olives, Jack speared one with a fork and popped it into his mouth. "And a good thing for you and me, so it is. Elseways we'd have been dinner for the bottom feeders a couple of centuries back instead of living the high life now. And just think," he went on, a crafty grin playing at the corner of his mouth, "if not for the sea goddess granting you life eternal, you'd not have had a chance to find and thereafter sample the wares of your long-lost pirate bride. That has to count for something, hey?" He happily helped himself to more of the small Mediterranean morsels.

Hector's mouth tightened and he glared daggers across the heap of food that separated them. "Ye'd be wise to keep such comments to yerself."

Jack paused in mid-chew. "Trouble in paradise, mate?" he said around a mouth full of olives. He coughed briefly as bits slipped down his throat and Hector almost wished he'd choke to death and put an end to the conversation in the most final of ways. As his bad luck would have it, Jack was able to wash away the offending victual with a swig of milk straight from the carton.

Pressure began to build behind Hector's eyes as his anger surged back stronger than before. "Can't see as that be any of yer business," he growled, pushing himself away from the table. He'd had enough of Sparrow for the time being and wanted nothing more than to retreat to the privacy of his ship to ponder what he'd learned. If he wanted the truth, it might be best to go right to the source, and quit the dancing around he was doing with Jack and his wretched secrecy.

Pushing the olive jar aside, Jack moved onto the pickled eggs. "What's wrong? She remember you for the disreputable scoundrel you were?"

A sharp look from Hector almost caused him to start choking on his food again. "No!" Jack exclaimed, not even attempting to conceal the spiteful glee he felt. "She didn't! Really? Christ, that can't be good. I swear – it wasn't me as told her!"

Hector turned his back on Jack, not wanting his long-standing rival to see his composure slipping. He tightened his fists until he could feel his nails cutting crescent-shaped wedges into his palms. "Nay, t'was me as did it and I'll not warn ye again to spare me yer opinion. Me reasons be me own and I'll not be explainin' meself to the likes of ye."

"If you like," Jack chuckled, "I could stop over by her stateroom and provide her some further insights. Oh…not sure that will help, though."

"Fortunately, she'll be spared havin' to put up with yer rantin'," sneered Hector, reconsidering his decision not to pummel the ignorant whelp into the floorboards. "She ain't here on Wisteria any longer, and I'll not be sharin' her new location with ye any time soon."

Jack's fork clattered to the table and the sound was enough to prompt Hector to turn. The dead serious look on Jack's face alarmed him in a way he was loathe to admit. "Barbossa…you allowed her to leave knowing that she was in mortal danger? Did you not understand that the only safe place she has is here with us?"

"What do ye mean by, 'us'? Ye're here only so long as I can stand to have ye about. And I'll have ye know that she be ev'ry bit as safe as she was here, if not more so!" barked Hector.

Jack stood, holding his hands out as if to quell the storm of emotions threatening to erupt between them yet again. "Just tell me," he said quietly, trying to keep a steady voice 'though he was clearly anything but calm, "that she's not in the hands of the one calling himself Jim Norrington and I'll not ask another question."

"Why do ye say that?" whispered Hector, already knowing the answer from the despondency he felt growing in his chest.

Jack's mouth was set grimly. "Because he is part of the 'they' we talked about earlier, isn't he? And now you've succeeded in giving them the only thing they needed to find their portal. If all is not already lost, it soon will be."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Elizabeth stared up and counted the sparkles on the ceiling, thinking fleetingly that they looked like silvery specs in an off-white sky. The vision brought back exactly what she'd been trying to avoid...another memory, this one of sailing beneath a star-encrusted night sky and the dark water reflecting it back so clearly that it almost seemed that they were floating through space.

That had been before the deafening sound of a distant waterfall had shattered the illusion of peace and they'd realized that they were about to plummet off the very edge of the world towards an unknown fate. She remembered her anger welling up until she'd unleashed it upon their captain, who'd acknowledged that they were lost but had seemingly been unfazed by the fact. She'd confronted Barbossa about condemning the entire crew to an all but certain death but his confidence had never wavered, not for a moment, and he'd come to stand right in front of her to face her insolence down.

_"Don't be so unkind_," he'd said, lifting a hand adorned with sharp, dark nails towards her face. She could have moved back, could have indignantly slapped his hand away before he'd reached her, but she'd been mesmerized by what she'd seen his eyes. Through the arrogance and bluster, she'd been struck with the sudden understanding that if those were to be their last moments of life, all Hector Barbossa had wanted was to die with the memory of having finally touched her...not from anger or in cruelty, but gently and with desire.

_"Ye may not survive to pass this way again and these be the last friendly words ye'll hear."_

Her heart should not have pounded so hard at the feel of his rough fingers against her skin. She'd known that those around her would expect her to be disgusted at the liberty he'd taken and so she'd let her lip curl in loathing before a shout of alarm had drawn her attention away completely. But he hadn't been fooled – she'd seen the certainty in his eyes, the knowledge that he'd provoked an unexpected response with his bold caress. The entire moment had lasted only a few seconds, but the anticipation...the emotion of the moment had made it seem so much longer.

With all that had followed – relief at having found Jack, the discovery that her father had died, the round-about way that they'd made their way back to the land of the living – the rather intimate exchange had been forgotten. But then when she'd found him and Jack at the Brethren Court and when he'd spoken before the motley gathering with such fervour, the feelings had risen again and she'd seen him... had _finally_ seen him...for who he really was. Wild, unafraid and full of passion. A true pirate and a man like no other.

She hadn't loved him. Admired, without a doubt. Had felt a warm affection for him at times, certainly. And some days, yes...she'd felt lust for him. But she'd loved Will. And perhaps Jack, just a little. No, she hadn't loved Barbossa. Not back then. At least she didn't think so.

Elizabeth blinked hard to dispel the thought and sat up in the bed, swinging her legs over the side and staring down at the worn orange shag carpet that covered most of the floors at the safe house. When she had been _that_ Elizabeth, she had been so young...world-weary in some ways but so very childlike in matters of the heart. Perhaps who she was now wasn't so very different – older, perhaps, but no wiser.

Her backpack was lying half open in front of her and she reached her hand into one of the side pockets, pulling out the sterling silver snake pendant that had once belonged to Barbossa. She wasn't sure what it was that had compelled her to retrieve it from amongst his scattered belongings. Perhaps she just needed a touchstone with her old world and next to the _jian_, it had been the most recognizable piece in the cavern. It had been so much a part of his fearsome image – at least, she had always thought so when she saw it around his neck, the ruby glinting in the dim lantern light on the deck at night.

Trying to make sense of her situation made her head hurt so badly that she felt nauseous, almost to the same degree as when she'd awoken after the attack on board _Morgan_. Coming to terms with her two selves...it was too much. She hadn't had to feign an illness to convince Jim that she needed to be left alone when they'd departed the Keys; he'd seen for himself the level of her distress and had granted her the solitude she'd requested.

Poor Jim. Or James, as he used to be. She hadn't wanted to call and ask him to pick her up; she understood that he would take it as encouragement and the dogged pursuit for her affections would begin anew. But Hector had given her little choice and she had to admit that while she'd not wanted to take advantage of the feelings that Jim had for her, she couldn't have brought herself to ask William for his help. Or Will. God, she felt as though she was trapped on a high-speed carousel, the faces and names from the present and the past twirling about and starting to blur in her mind.

There had been no happily ever after for Elizabeth and Will, any more than there had been for Beth and William. She'd waited for Will Turner's return for ten years but by the time he'd come home to Jamaica, he was as much of a stranger to her as anyone she'd pass by in the streets. He had been a part of another world for too long to find contentment with his family and when their son had died of consumption shortly after the boy's twelfth birthday, Will had taken his grief to sea and disappeared. Elizabeth had returned to England and lived out her days near the Brighton shore, watching the sea for a ship that she knew would never return.

Twice she had loved Will Turner and lost him. Twice she'd conceived a child only to have that child die. The oldest loss hurt the most, perhaps because it seemed new to her again. Were both she and Will destined to find one another, generation after generation, only to have their love come apart at the seams at the first true test of its strength? Was that the best she could expect, as one life morphed into another? She didn't want that. The bleak thought filled Elizabeth with misery.

Elizabeth...or was she still Beth? Neither name seemed completely hers anymore, 'though she had to admit that 'Elizabeth' sat more easily in her mind. Perhaps because that was what Hector called her...what he whispered in her ear when he was at his most amorous...the name that was carried on a sigh of pleasure as she touched him.

She gasped as the vision of Hector's body moving above hers filled her mind. The heat of his kisses, the thrust of his hips against hers, the way he filled her completely in both a physical and spiritual way. She stood suddenly, walking towards the window to gaze unseeingly outside. No. She couldn't allow herself to go there. It had already been established, in her mind at least, that while her feelings for him were powerful, it was only through an ignorance of their history that she'd fallen for him at all.

Her excuse sounded ridiculous even without being spoken out loud. She took the pendant and clipped it on, finding some reassurance in the cold weight as it lay on her chest. Hector couldn't be here to comfort her...would probably never be there in that way for her again. But at least she had this bit of him close by.

Resting her forehead against the cool glass and closing her eyes, Elizabeth opened her mind and let the memories trickle back rather than fighting to keep them at bay. The sight of Barbossa descending the stairs of Tia Dalma's hut in the swamp, inordinately pleased with himself at making such a grand and shocking entrance. Her being stopped by Sao Feng's men in Singapore and having the pirate lord step from the shadows, making sure they knew under whose colours she had arrived in their most ancient and honourable city and in so doing, indisputably extending his protection to her. The glow of that first sunrise when the _Pearl_ had emerged from beneath the waves and the way Barbossa had grinned into the new dawn. And yes...oh, yes...the sight of him at the helm of the _Pearl_ as they stood their ground against Beckett and Jones, laughing defiantly in the face of sure and certain death.

Alone with Barbossa in the cavern, all she was able to remember was her first reaction to him the night she'd allowed his men to take her to the _Pearl_. The way he and the crew had looked beneath the naked moon, the faint smell of dusty death that had permeated every timber aboard his ship and the stomach-turning scent of rotting flesh that had hung over them wherever they sailed at night. The recollections had hit her hard and her first instinct when her awareness of who she was returned was to put as much distance between the two of them as she could.

Elizabeth's chest ached as she recalled the wounded look on his face when she'd pulled away, the heartbreak that made itself heard in every word that broke from his lips after her first moment of recognition. He'd trusted her with his heart and she'd thrown it to the side like it was nothing...like his declarations of love had been trite and meaningless. And she'd tried to explain, had wanted him to understand before they were parted why she had done what she'd done, but he'd have no more to do with her once Jim made shore. Barbossa's pride and sorrow wouldn't allow it, and she couldn't blame him. She'd have reacted the same way.

There was a tentative knock on her door. "Beth? Is it okay if I come in?"

She didn't really want to see Jim, but she owed him at least that for coming whenever she beckoned. Besides, it was likely better to have company than to wallow in her own self-pity. "Yes, of course," she called out, and turned to watch as he came into the room, his hands in his pockets.

Jim smiled apologetically. "I know you aren't really up for visitors, but I thought you might make an exception for me if I made you something to eat and invited you down for lunch. I could also offer a friendly shoulder, if you think you might need that, too."

"You're really too good to me," she said with a sad smile. "I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate..."

He took a few steps towards her and shook his head. "You don't need to thank me for anything. I was so relieved to hear from you – I've been beside myself since I left you on that island. I'm just glad that you...that is..."

Elizabeth frowned. "What?"

He turned his back to her, perhaps too embarrassed by what he wanted to say to look her in the face as he did so. "You didn't belong there with them. With _him_. And I know I have no right to say that to you but it's how I feel." Jim turned, his expression solemn. "I don't know what he did to you, but I'm glad you felt that you could turn to me for protection."

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, it wasn't like that, Jim. He never hurt me. That's not the reason I called you."

Jim gave her a sceptical look and pointed at her wrists. "Really? Because those bruises don't look like something you get from running into a door, Beth."

She felt her cheeks burn and she rubbed at the marks as though she could erase them from her skin. "He didn't mean to do that...I tried to hit him and he stopped me. He's just stronger than he realizes sometimes."

"_You_ tried to hit _him_? Sounds like a wonderfully healthy relationship. I'm surprised you're not already ordering wedding invitations." There was an ugly look on Jim's face that accompanied his cutting words, and his snarky tone touched an already raw nerve within her.

"I asked for your help because I'm in trouble..._real_ trouble that has nothing to do with my love life. But if the price I have to pay for your assistance is listening to you pass judgement on me and my relationships, I think I'd rather take my chances on my own." She grabbed her backpack from the floor and stalked towards the bedroom door.

Jim ran ahead of her and blocked her exit. "No! No, please..." he said, sighing heavily. "I apologize. You're right – it's none of my business. And you know that I'd do anything to help you. You need only ask."

Elizabeth glared at him angrily, gauging his sincerity. "Not another word about Hector, do you promise?"

He rested his hands gently on her shoulders. "I swear. Please stay and tell me what's going on, and I'll do what I can to help you resolve the situation. Why don't we go down to the kitchen where it's more comfortable...you can eat while you tell me what's going on that has you so worked up."

Until he mentioned food, she hadn't really been hungry. But there had been nothing to eat at Fort Zachary Taylor and her stomach decided to make its empty dissatisfaction known with a rather loud growl that broke the tension. Both of them smiled at the sound and Jim backed out of her way, bowing like a butler as he pulled the door fully open.

"Lunch awaits, ma'am. Let's eat first and talk afterwards, okay?"

She nodded her agreement and proceeded downstairs ahead of him.

The safe house was clearly old and from the looks of things, the decor had not been touched since the 1970s. Complementing the orange shag was worn wood panelling and furniture with large brown and orange floral patterns. Linoleum in the kitchen was of a startling enough pattern that it almost hurt the eyes, and the harvest gold appliances did nothing to mute the assault of fall colours on Elizabeth's senses. Still, it was clean and in its remote location on the very south end of Florida's Everglades Park, she supposed that the house would be just right if one wanted to avoid unwelcome visitors.

Jim looked sheepish as he led her into the kitchen where he'd made some tinned soup and tuna sandwiches. "It's not much...not the house and not the lunch...but I hope you'll be okay with it. It's not going to be a five-star stay, I'm afraid."

Elizabeth sat at the old chipped, turquoise Formica table and dug into her sandwich. "Mmmm...it's fine," she assured between bites. "I just need to lay low for a while until Hector figures out who is behind all this." She didn't want to give him any indication of the falling out she'd had with Hector, 'though he'd have to have been completely oblivious to miss the cold silence that had followed her off the dock.

He sat down across from her, stirring his soup distractedly. "And what is 'all this', exactly? Maybe you'd be better served letting the law handle whatever it is you've come up against rather than an outlaw."

Her eyebrow quirked up in warning and he held up his hand to stop her before she could start in on him. "Sorry. Old habits, you know. But I think my question is a legitimate one, even without my casting doubts on the abilities of your..._friend_."

As she began on her soup, Elizabeth told Jim more about the attack on the _Morgan LeFay_ and detailed the escape they'd made just the night previously while making their way to the warehouse. He listened attentively, asking questions about the appearance of the men and the nature of the weapons they'd used. She mentioned Marilyn's betrayal but skipped the many supernatural elements of the story – while it had played a big part in her history once she'd fallen in with pirates, she didn't think it would lend her story much credibility with the current incarnation of James Norrington.

"Do you have any idea what they're after?" he asked, his interest clearly piqued.

She was going to tell him about what they'd heard from Jack, but in the end decided to keep the concept of a portal to herself. Until they figured out for themselves what their enemies were seeking, Elizabeth felt it prudent keep some information back. "Not really. But if they're willing to kill me in order to get me away from the dive site, it must be something pretty important. Or incredibly valuable."

"Is that where you got that piece you're wearing around your neck? From the _Black Pearl_?" Jim asked, pointing at the gap in her blouse.

Elizabeth's hand went to her chest and her fingers played over the contours of the snake. She shook her head. "No, it's from the same era but I didn't get it from the..._Pearl_." Her heart leapt into her throat as she realized what he had said. How on earth would he know the name of the shipwreck? Unless he already knew what the men who were pursuing her were after. Unless, like Jack, he had been helping them all along...

Although her pulse was pounding in new found terror, she tried to act as though he hadn't said anything unexpected. It took every ounce of control she had to muster up a casual response. "This was very good, Jim," she said, pushing herself away from the table and rubbing at her eyes, "but I'm feeling really wrung out. I don't mean to be rude, but would it be okay with you if I went back upstairs for a while and took a quick nap?"

He looked surprised at her sudden fatigue but finally seemed to accept her excuse. "Of course. Just leave these dishes here and I'll take care of them. I can't imagine what you must have gone through these last several weeks." Jim stood and pulled her chair out for her, and she took a few steps towards the kitchen door before he stopped her by taking her hand.

Slowly she turned, trying to look nonchalant but suddenly sure he'd realized his mistake. "It's going to be okay, Beth," he said, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. "I'm going to look after everything. You'll see." He leaned forward and gently bussed her cheek.

Elizabeth made herself smile, despite her urge to spit in his face. "Thank you, Jim. You've always been...a good man."

His expression wavered but she didn't give him a chance to say more before pulling away and walking as casually as she could back up the tacky carpet-covered stairs to the second floor.

Once in the confines of her room, Elizabeth ran over to the window and tried to tug it open. For some reason, it hadn't occurred to her that in a safe house, the windows were likely locked and reinforced, designed to keep danger out as well as keep skittish witnesses in, and it took a few moments of grunting effort before she acknowledged defeat. There had to be more than one way in or out, though, in case the agents who used the house needed an escape plan...the trick was going to be finding it without Jim realizing that she was doing so.

It would have been a better idea, she reflected as she glanced around the room, to bring along the _jian_ instead of the pendant. Foolish sentimentality wouldn't have quite the effect during a fight that a well-honed sword could provide.

She gently turned the knob on her door and opened it just enough that she could see the room below. There were sounds of clinking dinnerware coming from the kitchen, signalling that Jim was still occupied. Before she tiptoed out into the hallway, she returned to the bed and fashioned a rough outline of a body beneath the covers using cushions and clothes from her pack. It wouldn't pass close scrutiny, true enough, but it might get past a cursory peek through the door and delay them in their search should she successfully get away.

The amateurish deception in place, she silently closed the door behind her, all the better to let Jim think that she really had decided to go for a bit of a sleep. She only hoped that his kiss in the kitchen didn't signal the start of a romantic overture on his part – a few pillows weren't likely to satisfy for long.

As she crept from room to room, her sense of betrayal ate her from the inside. Okay, he had done something similar when he was Commodore Norrington, too...and if history was really repeating itself, then perhaps she should have seen it coming. And maybe there was still some nobility in his soul, and he really thought that he was helping her by 'brokering' some kind of deal with the bad guys, but it showed a marked lack of respect for her intelligence and a gross overestimation of his ability to handle situation that could easily escalate beyond his control.

Elizabeth wasn't going to give him a chance to either turn her over to his accomplices or to redeem himself. At this point, it was up to her to affect her own rescue and put the 'damsel in distress' bit to rest once and for all.

She found no success in any of the remaining three bedrooms – all of the windows had been altered with the same security protocols and there were no secret doors hidden in closets or behind walls. The small windows in the bathrooms weren't an option, being far too small to provide more than a glance at the surrounding everglades. Her only choice was to make her way downstairs to find a way out, but the chance of discovery was far greater than from the second floor. How far would Jim go to keep her prisoner? The only risk lay in tipping her hand and letting him know that she had seen him for what he was, but she had little else to lose.

Turning from the end of the hall and making her way back towards the stairs, a short, thick rope hanging from the ceiling caught her eye. An attic...could there be a way out from there? It was worth a try at any rate. If nothing else, it might take them more time to find her once they discovered her missing, and any extra lead she could give herself was as good as gold.

Elizabeth crept forward to take another peek over the railing and saw no sign of Jim. Sneaking back down the hallway, she stood beneath the rope and took a jump. Either the trap door had been painted shut or it had not been used for a very long time, because she was left literally hanging from the ceiling, her hands wrapped along the small loop of rope and her feet dangling. She jerked and twisted at it for a while, but ended up releasing it when all she got for her efforts was a light shower of dust from above.

Taking slow, deep breaths, Elizabeth stood beneath the hatch and glared upwards. The dust meant that there had been some small movement, 'though it hadn't really felt like it. In all likelihood, she simply didn't weigh enough to break whatever seal had formed around the door, long undisturbed.

She was about to resign herself to an inspection of the first floor when a quick knock came from the front entry. Sliding along the wall, Elizabeth dared a look towards the living room and saw Jim striding towards the door. Her instinct for flight was overcome briefly by her innate curiosity and she waited as two other men entered the house, hoping to catch some of their conversation. If she could figure out who they were, she could somehow get word to Hector and they'd at last be on an even playing field when it came down to a fight. And there was no doubt in her mind that was exactly where they were headed.

One was short, his hair trim and his clothes expensive-looking. The other was much rougher in appearance, his eyes shifty and his unkempt hair long and scraggly. Jim welcomed them, albeit with far less enthusiasm than she would have thought.

"Is the girl here?" one of them said, his voice smooth as velvet and cultured. "Did you manage not to screw up your assignment completely, Deputy Marshall?"

"You know I wouldn't have called you otherwise," said Jim indignantly. "I've fulfilled my part of our bargain and I expect you to honour yours."

"Yes, yes...she's all yours once we have what we want," said the same man, his voice condescending and haughty. "Not sure why you'd want the sloppy seconds of pirate scum but there's no accounting for taste, I suppose." The voice was familiar, 'though certainly not one she knew as Beth Swann. Another beacon from the distant past, and she searched her mind to place the tone as the discussion continued.

The other man snickered unpleasantly. "Perhaps we should give her a try ourselves, see what we've all been missing. Must be a fine bit of tail for the old captain to defend her so well."

That voice she recognized 'though she had no name to attach to it yet. Bile filled her throat and her stomach twisted at the memory. It was the same man who had attacked her that night on the docks; the one who had tried to kill her. And again, the voice was known to Elizabeth Swann as well...something was different from the last time she'd heard it, but the cadence was close...

"You'll not lay a hand on her!" roared Jim.

"A bit late for that, lad," laughed the rough one. "Already had a hand on her...tongue, too. Tasty treat, she was – too bad she had to fight and learn her lesson the hard way."

"Enough!" said the smooth talker, his voice turned cold. "If you'd succeeded in killing her, our opportunity would have been lost and you along with it. If you knew how to keep your temper in check, Mr. Jones, none of this ridiculous subterfuge would be necessary. Remember that, if you would, and the fact that I am in charge of this operation and can declare you expendable at any time."

Jones. JONES. Oh God. There was no longer any sign of a harsh Scottish brogue, but that was where she'd heard the voice before. Davy Jones, back as a man, but every bit as hateful and disgusting as when tentacles hung from his face and his claw could snap lesser men in half. His hair was grey and unwashed, and the stubble he wore on his chin made him look grimier yet. As she watched, he snorted and spit onto the carpet, scratching at the worn cable knit sweater he wore. Too hot for the climate, certainly, but just the thing for concealing a weapon. The careful distance that both Jim and the other man kept between Jones and themselves made her think his hygiene was likely every bit as awful as his appearance would indicate.

Elizabeth covered her mouth, holding back a whimper of terror when she thought back to Jones' capacity for cruelty. No man to die for her...he'd been talking about Will that night aboard the_Morgan LeFay_. About James. And very likely about Jack. And if she was going to be honest about it...had Barbossa not died for her, too? Jack had shot him just as Barbossa would have fired his pistol at her on the Isla de Muerta…certainly, his life had been the price paid for her survival that day.

Then the other man...who could it be?

"You should remember, Beckett, that you would never have found her except for me, so you'd best keep your yap shut and remember who it is you're talking to."

The back and forth argument continued, and Elizabeth slunk back down the hall and well out of their sights. She wanted to vomit. No two more despicable individuals than Davy Jones and Cutler Beckett had ever drawn breath – and they were after her. Where she'd been determined to make her escape before, she was now frantic.

Whatever deal Jim had made with them, she knew they'd not keep their end of it. There was every chance that once they had what they wanted, both she and Jim would disappear into the everglade swamps, food for the reptiles and other scavengers that made the area their home. If he had known his own history – who he'd been before he'd been Deputy Marshall Norrington, who the other two had been – he'd not have struck such a bargain in the first place.

Her eyes were drawn back up to the trap door and she padded over to stand beneath it again. There was no choice – with the new arrivals, the chance of escaping through a downstairs door was gone. She glared and rubbed her hands together before jumping again and catching the rope in her hands, jerking hard as she did so.

The door budged again but still didn't open. Gritting her teeth, Elizabeth swung her legs up until they scraped against the ceiling. Twice she tried to catch a grip and twice she failed, left hanging and breathing hard with both attempts. She steeled herself once more, even though the muscles in her arms were straining and sore, and swung her legs back up once more. The final time she found purchase and she hung upside down for a moment, her hands still wrapped in the rope and her feet jammed against the ceiling on either side of the trap door.

Using her legs for leverage, Elizabeth tugged again and this time the door popped free, leaving her to swing down to the plush shag. As luck would have it, she caught the small ladder before it hit the floor and alerted the men to her activities. The whole sequence of events had been far from silent – the wooden squeal of the door as it broke the seal almost caused her heart to stop – but the snapping and arguing had continued downstairs and none of them gave a sign of having heard anything.

She'd reached the top of the ladder on little kitten feet when she overheard Jones say, "Best we go up and check that she's really there. Knowing this one, she's not yet set foot in the place and he's playing us for fools."

"She's sleeping," Jim said insistently, and she imagined him barring the way to the stairs in defence of her peace. "You can check on her in a while."

"Don't worry yourself, youngster," sneered Jones. "I'll not partake in the charms of your scrawny whore. I'll just make sure she's there and then we can make our plans to retrieve the portal."

As quietly as she could, Elizabeth pulled the ladder up after her and gently tugged the handle until the door closed with a very dull thud. She wanted to fall back on the floorboards and catch her breath, but she knew the sand in her own personal hour glass was quickly running out. Jones wouldn't be taken in so easily as most and once he raised the alarm, her advantage would be gone.

The ascending argument got louder as she crept through the attic, stepping around old boxes and pushing through cobwebs heavy with dust. A set of disco records rested against one wall and a lava lamp stood sadly forgotten in a corner. It was the heap of rope ladder, though, crumpled up beneath a single cracked window as it was, that caught her attention and brought new hope to her heart. Whoever it was that they had hidden away in this house, the marshals had obviously not considered the fact that a truly committed assassin would find his way to the third floor and easy access. Regardless, she was grateful that they'd kept it as a last-chance avenue of escape.

The voices of the three men rang crystal clear through the rafters as she pried at the window, her heart exalting in the ease with which the pane lifted when she slipped her fingers beneath. The uneasy banter continued beneath her at the bedroom door as Elizabeth took a quick look out the window and quailed at the height. How long had it been since the ladder had been tested? As light as she was, would it hold her until she had reached the ground...or was at least close enough not to die in a fall? No use killing herself when there were those so close only too willing to assist.

"You've likely woken her already," hissed Jim. "All she wanted was a chance to catch a bit of sleep, you blundering idiot."

"Then she can return to dreamland once I've satisfied my curiosity," barked Jones. "Forgive me if I won't take your word for it that you've done your part. You've always been a bit of a pansy when it comes to carrying out the dirty work, haven't you?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" retorte Jim indignantly. "So far as I can remember, I've not had this distasteful experience before and God knows I'm hoping not to repeat it any time soon."

"Shouldn't trouble yourself over that, Norrington," crowed Jones. "When this is done..."

"Would you mind," Beckett interrupted wearily, "getting this over with? I've had quite enough of the two of you going back and forth like a pair of old hens. We have business to conduct and this delay tries my patience."

Elizabeth counted her lucky stars that the bedroom to which Jim had relegated her was on the opposite side of the house as the unsecured window. With a muttered prayer, she hoisted the rope ladder over the ledge and let it drop, flinching in anticipation of the noise she knew would follow. It unwound, the heavy rope and hard slats whapping against the wooden siding until unwound completely to a point about ten feet above the mossy ground surrounding the house. It swung side to side, scraping as it went.

She paused only a moment and was greeted with sudden silence from the floor below. Either they'd heard the racket the ladder made or they'd discovered that she was missing. Regardless, waiting to find out wasn't something she could afford to do. Taking a deep breath and swinging her legs over the ledge, Elizabeth started a hasty descent down the swaying ladder and on her way to freedom...or so she hoped.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Hector's rage was far past the point where the mere destruction of property or the thunderous uttering of threats could express its depth. Indeed, his growing thirst for bloodshed and the need for violent retribution brought forth a cold calmness that made him appear outwardly serene. Those who knew him best, though, understood that he'd reached a stage when he was truly at his most dangerous.

The men had grown quiet in the shadow of what they'd sensed was a coming storm and even Jack had become introspective and sombre in his company. As the _Corazón Perdido_ headed steadily north along the Gulf coast, the crew refrained from engaging in their usual cheerful banter and needling remarks. Instead, they moved with near-military precision as they checked the rigging and trimmed the sails to account for the wind speed. She was to be a vessel of pleasure no longer, but of war…the furniture and other leisurely accoutrements had been left behind on Wisteria, and weapons of no small fire power loaded aboard in their stead.

Earlier in the day, Hector had ordered those of his men stationed aboard the _Penzance_ to retrieve the mirror from Elizabeth's lab and return with it to the island. Now that he had the cursed object in his possession, he had something with which to negotiate Elizabeth's release – should it come to that. He'd not engage the foe in battle, not until he knew for sure that the girl was safe. If she was anything but alive and whole when he found her, there would be no escape from his fury for those responsible.

Hector stood on the bow, steady eyes scanning the horizon for a sign of the enemy and his hair whipping the air behind him. There was no knowing where the traitor Norrington had taken her, of course; there were a thousand tiny harbours and inlets that might have been used for hiding spots. Certain he was, though, that they'd not have strayed too far. It was their belief, as it had been Jack's, that the mirror remained undisturbed on the ocean floor amongst in the wreckage of the _Pearl_. Once they'd ascertained the bearings of the site, they'd want to be within a quick trip of their prize.

It didn't bear thinking about what her captors might have already done to her in order to discover the location of the item, and so he tried mightily to force it from his mind as best he could. Of course, she'd not be in danger at all if Hector had not turned his back upon both her and his duty in order to nurse his hurts, so the blame for her fate rested with him as much as her unknown captors. They'd not act, though, until they had what they were after, and so he held tightly to the chance of redemption. Whether she loved him or not, he'd not fail her again.

Jack came up beside him and grabbed hold of the forestay to steady himself against the waves. "Tried to call them on the cell phone again but they're not of a mind to answer. Guess they figure they have all they need and are no longer in need of my services, as it were."

Hector didn't acknowledge Jack at first, gathering his thoughts as he was. "If she'd given them what it is they be wantin', we'd have found them by now," he finally answered. "Even had they managed to slip past us, the sentries at either the wreck or the lab would have gotten word to us."

"And so what's your plan, Hector? We sail up and down the coast, and hope against hope that we spot their little slip of a boat? And then what? They threaten to kill her if we don't hand the portal over, we threaten to blow them from the water if they don't hand _her_ over, and we sit staring at one another across the waves and waiting for someone to blink."

Hector turned his icy gaze to Jack. "Supposin', Jack, ye finally let me in on yer secret and tell me what it is that I'm supposed to be tradin' fer 'Lizabeth's life. A portal – that much I get. But a portal to where? And what makes it so bleedin' important to them…or to ye, for that matter?"

Jack looked off towards the horizon, pondering his answer. Hard it was to tell what he was thinking with the black lenses of his sunglasses hiding his eyes, but it was clear he struggled with what to reveal and what to hold back. "Doesn't matter just to me, but to both of us. _All_ of us that Calypso saved that night. If they get their hands on it, everything changes."

"Well, everythin's crystal clear now," Hector answered unsmiling, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Care to elaborate fer those of us not gifted with second sight?"

Jack removed the shades from his eyes and looked unflinchingly back at him. "If you could go back in time, Barbossa, what would you alter? What would you undo as had been done, and so change the course of your life?"

Hector squinted back at Jack, wondering at his game. What would he do, given the chance? Claw back ten lost years, just as a beginning...but would he still take the _Pearl_ and maroon Jack Sparrow, only to steer clear of the cursed treasure? If not for the curse, he'd never have known of Elizabeth Swann...perhaps it would have been better for all involved had that been the case. But for the curse and his death, though, and then the resurrection at the hands of the witch goddess, he'd not have ushered in century after century. Not have had half the adventure he had, nor made his mark upon the modern world.

Would he have the courage to take a step back, not knowing what new story would be written for Hector Barbossa by the fates? What single thing would he change – could he change – that wouldn't unmake what history he did cherish?

He shook his head. It was useless to speculate on such and could drive a man mad in the trying. Why take such a chance, only to end up dead and gone for good? He wasn't ready for that yet. "Don't know what yer on about," Hector muttered, twisting away to again turn his attention to the waters before them. "Yer talkin' nonsense."

Jack sighed sadly. "You disappoint me, mate. You an' me, we'd know better than most that there's nothing really outside the realm of possibility. Worse yet, there are others who know it too...and know what it is they need to accomplish exactly that. Go back in time and fashion circumstances so as to adjust the past and thus the future. But not just theirs...all of ours."

"Say it plain already, would ye? Weary I grow of hearin' ye speak in riddles."

Jack moved up close behind Hector and leaned in as though making some intimate confession. "Let's say that instead of being you an' me," he whispered, "we're a disgraced English lord and a half-insane, formerly-human ship's captain, reborn and well-aware of our august past. Humiliated we were, and worst part is, we know it now and not being able to do anything about it...well, it's more than we can bear."

"Cutler Beckett...and Davy Jones!" Hector whipped round, grabbing Jack by his shirtfront. "That's who has 'Lizabeth?!" A cold stone of fear settled in his gut. As ruthless as Hector had ever been, both Beckett and Jones had augmented their cruelty with a remorseless brutality that far surpassed his own. He was willing to wager their methods had remained largely the same, reincarnated or not.

Jack frowned and pried Hector's fingers away. "Glad you share my concern. Think for a moment with the head you've upon your shoulders – if there's any blood left above your waist – and consider what might happen should those two use the portal and go back far enough."

"The Brethren would be defeated..." Hector said, the full import of the item becoming clear, or so he thought.

Jack huffed. "There'd not be a battle at all, would there? You, me, our men...all of us would be dead on the deck of the _Pearl_, soon as Sao Feng turned us over. There'd be no negotiation; no back-handed bargains struck that would guarantee our escape. Beckett would make short work of the lot of us with a noose thrown over the yardarm and one by one, every pirate on his way to Shipwreck Cove would be picked off by either Jones or one of His Majesty's ships. And Elizabeth...well, she'd be bent over the gunwale in front of Beckett and the entire Royal Navy, or facing a hanging herself. Most likely one would follow the other, knowing Beckett."

"And Calypso would remain bound in her bones, so's to satisfy ol' Davy Jones..." Hector grimaced, finally understanding. In having him save Elizabeth, Calypso was working in her own best interests. He'd known there was some grand scheme in play, but he'd not understood his role quite so clearly as he did now. Pawns on a chess board, they were, and little more. All that mattered to Calypso was that she remained free, a goddess unfettered, and beyond that their lives were of no consequence. Hector bristled at the manipulations but saw no alternative to playing out his role and fulfilling the vows he'd taken. Being used in such a way shouldn't have come as a surprise at all; she'd only brought him back the first time to serve her own needs and this occasion was certainly no different. But knowing didn't make him feel less sullied.

"Aye," confirmed Jack grimly, "you're on to it. Now, I don't know about you, but I rather enjoy being alive and am in no rush to see all this come to an end. And so if I can serve the goddess and in so doing, preserve my own skin...well, you can see where we can't just be handing over the mirror. Whether it costs Lizzie her life or not."

Disbelief and anger swelled in Hector's chest. "Yer askin' me to sacrifice 'Lizabeth to save meself?"

"_No_, that's not it at all. By all means...save your strumpet, be the hero. But I am telling you, Barbossa," snarled Jack, menace glinting in his black eyes, "that should you not be successful in doing so, I'll take a rather dim view of any attempt to trade away the mirror and so my immortal life for her very mortal one. Me an' Calypso are of one mind on that point. We must keep the portal from Beckett and Jones at all costs."

Hector step towards Jack and fixed him with an icy glare. "Ye think it wise to force me hand, do ye?"

"Died once courtesy of Miss Swann. Don't plan on doing it again. But what I _will_ do," he said, brightening noticeably, "is to help you to see her back, safe and sound. And she can return to being horrified by the thought that she ever let you touch her, and you can resume moping about like a dog as has been beaten. And while you are so occupied, I can return to the West Coast in my beautiful new ship!"

Jack beamed gaily at him and Hector's hand shook as he used every ounce of restraint he possessed not to lay the other man out on deck with a blow to the face. "I'll not be havin' this argument with ye again. The _Corazón_ is mine and I'm not of a mind to hand 'er over."

Shrugging, Jack gave him a greasy grin. "It'll all come out in the wash, won't it? In the meantime, I figure we should quit playing about and find the girl."

"And have ye a cunning plan to accomplish that very task? 'Cause ye seem to think me methods be lacking." Hector retorted, once again marvelling how just when his humour seemed to be at its blackest, Jack Sparrow could find a way to make it darker yet.

"Well, I'd just do whatever it was that you did the last time. Because in so doing, you were able to find the lass and when you got there, there she was."

Hector felt the muscles at the base of his neck start to tighten. "Last time...?"

Jack sighed and looked to the heavens as though hoping for divine intervention for Hector's outstanding obliviousness. "Must I spell it out for you? How did you find Elizabeth in the first place? Doubt that Calypso provided you directions, and that little bit of Sao Feng's map I left you all those years back certainly wouldn't have pointed the way. And I know you don't have the compass – I bartered that long ago. So let's hear it!"

"The goddess told me..." Hector trailed off. He didn't want to tell Jack, truth be told. Not because Jack wouldn't believe what he had to say, but because it would give him yet something else to laugh about, and Hector wasn't exactly in the mood for more of Jack's jocularity.

"Yeesssss?" Jack drawled, waving his hand as though prompting Barbossa to continue.

"Last time, Elizabeth had somethin' with her from the _Pearl_. Somethin' as belonged to me...a ring as was me father's. Calypso said t'would act as a beacon if only I would..." He grunted in frustration and rubbed at his face.

"Good lord, man...how painful can it be?! It would act as a beacon if you would...what?" Jack's teeth were clenched in frustration.

"If I'd _listen to me heart_! There ye are! Does that satisfy?" Hector barked, staring Jack down and daring him to make mockery of what he was reluctantly revealing. "Told me, didn't she, that if I closed me eyes and thought on 'Lizabeth hard enough, me heart would point the way as sure as any compass, magical or not!"

Jack's eyes widened in surprise and he looked taken aback. "And that worked?"

Hector narrowed his gaze, not trusting in the other's muted reaction. "Aye, it did. Just knew where to go...could see in mind's eye the name of her ship and the danger as lurked."

"Huh," replied Jack, his brow knitting. "That's interesting."

"That's all ye have to say?" Hector said suspiciously.

"Not sure _what_ to say," said Jack, eyeing him with such scrutiny as made Hector entirely uncomfortable. "If you had that strong a bond with her, and well before she'd had the unfortunate occasion to share your bed...that must mean you and she...back then...that is..."

Jack closed his mouth as if he was unsure he should continue, or perhaps just demonstrating his unwillingness to do so. Hector didn't think he'd ever seen Jack Sparrow at a loss for words and it was somewhat disconcerting. "Out with it!" he snapped.

"No, it ain't worth remarking upon," said Jack, shaking his head. "Let me ask you this, though. If it worked then to..._'listen to your heart'_...is there any reason it wouldn't work now?"

Hector thought on it for a moment. "Can't work again. She left the ring aboard her own ship fer safe keepin'." His brief hope faded before it had truly blossomed. Afraid of losing it, Elizabeth had locked it away in the safe on the _Morgan LeFay_ before she'd taken her first dive to view the _Pearl_. "Ain't gonna help us from there."

"Does she have anything else belonging to you? Some token bit of shine you gave her that she might have kept?" Jack prodded.

"I'd not given her anythin' she felt was worth keepin'," he answered wearily. There had been no trinkets exchanged, no small or sentimental gifts. There had been the Blackhearts leather cut, true enough, but that he'd seen in her stateroom on the _Corazón_ and knew she'd not taken it with her when they'd set off for shore the night before. That oversight...if that had been what it was, in fact...wounded him deeper still.

"Still," pondered Jack, fiddling with his moustache as he thought, "with women, you never can tell. Might have lifted some small souvenir from you without your even knowing it."

"If ye had seen her face when she remembered me," Hector said quietly, "ye'd not think that."

"Try anyway," said Jack resolutely.

"I'll not embarrass meself just to be provin' ye wrong. Best we keep a sharp eye out and wait fer them to make a move." Hector crossed his arms, better to let Jack know he'd not be swayed in his decision.

"I can see now what it is as brought the two of you together," said Jack, snorting and throwing up his hands. "Never knew two more stubborn people; always know you're right, even when you're far from it as you can be. What'll it hurt to make one bloody attempt, hmm?"

"Fine!" Hector hissed. "Fine, if'n it'll get ye to shut yer yap once an' fer all! But yer to back off and leave me to the task. I'll not perform like a trained monkey fer yer amusement!" Jack laughed and opened his mouth to remark but Hector stopped him short, pointing a threatening finger in his face. "And don't ye even start on that!"

Fighting to hide a smirk, Jack held his arms up as if in surrender and backed away from the bow. Hector watched him until Jack had retreated as far as amidships and had left him with what he judged to be sufficient privacy. Feeling nothing if not ridiculous, Hector turned to face forwards again and closed his eyes. He spread his arms out at his sides and took a deep breath, picturing Elizabeth in his mind.

The first time he'd tried to find her, he'd pictured the Elizabeth of old. To him, she had been the spoiled child that had stomped her little foot on the deck of the _Pearl_ and insisted that the most feared pirate captain of the time bow to her demands. She was the china doll, decked out in the wine-coloured finery who had gorged herself on the feast spread before her in his quarters. She had been the terrifying warrior who'd fought off Jones' crew and Beckett's sailors alike…and finally, she was the weary but beautiful woman, leaving to start a life ashore as Turner's wife.

But this time..._this time_ he brought forth the memories of _his_ Elizabeth, insofar as he'd ever had to right to call her his. Her embrace and her tears in the garage where he'd first shown her his bike…the tender way she'd touched him when he'd been shot, the fear of loss etched onto her face…the heat of her desire and the scent of their shared passion. He tried to fill himself with her presence, pushing out all other thoughts and sending out a call across the ether, willing his heart to find hers.

Hector half expected Jack to call out and make some remark at his expense, but there was no sound from either Jack or the men crewing the ship. Or maybe there was, and it was lost on him as he stood unwavering against the buffeting winds. Either way, there was no answering call from across the waves as the minutes slipped by...no internal light flared to guide his search. Slowly he lowered his arms, his spirit sinking as he did so. It had been a long shot at best; he'd known that before he tried. Damn Sparrow for ever making him believe it could work. And damn himself for entertaining a fool's hope.

Just about to step down from the bow, he felt something move deep inside him. It was so faint that it was barely there at all and at first he wasn't certain that it wasn't just wishful thinking on his part. He turned back to face the horizon and closed his eyes again, raising his face into the fine ocean mist. Yes, there it was again...like the tug upon a fishing line, right in the centre of his chest.

"I know yer there, girl, but I need some more," he whispered, letting his mind paint her portrait in broad, bold strokes once more. Another small tug and then another...and then it was a steady pull, but with a pulse, as though her heart was beating a message to his. His spirit was buoyed...she hadn't left him behind entirely. She had something as called to him. Elizabeth had kept a part of him with her, even knowing who he was. Even knowing what he'd been.

Hector listened to the call for another moment, making sure in his mind that he understood where he had to go. Once he was certain, he abandoned his post and ran full tilt back to the pilot house, with Jack fast on his heels and trying to get his attention.

He swept into the cabin and yanked charts from the cubbyholes until he found the one he needed, spreading it before him. He laughed out loud once he realized her destination before turning and unceremoniously shoved his crewman from the helm so he could set the right coordinates.

Jack stepped up close and grabbed him by the arm. "Did it work? Did you find her?" he asked, a mixture of awe and disbelief on his youthful face.

Hector grinned back at him as he spun the wheel. "Aye, we've got her. We've found 'Lizabeth. And the saints help them as dared to take her from me."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

The dank smelling mud stuck in clumps to the bottom of Elizabeth's deck shoes and made her regret not cramming her boots into her backpack when she'd left Wisteria. Of course, she'd not been given notice that she was going to be abducted and as a rule, she didn't generally ensure she was packed for a cross-country escape. As luck would also have it, she was trapped in the everglades during the rainy season as opposed to the drought, when the mud would have baked dry and her flight from Jones and Beckett made a bit easier. Given the way things had gone for her over the last few days, she would have been a fool to expect anything better.

Climbing up onto the knobby roots of a large cypress, she wrinkled her nose as she eased one of the canvas shoes off and wiped it against the bark of the tree, trying to clean some of the sludge off. Unfortunately, the muck hung on tenaciously and in the end she decided it was simply easier to abandon her sodden footwear entirely. The light shoes hadn't offered much protection, anyway, whether from the slippery mess upon which she was trying to walk or from the sharp-toothed creatures that slithered beneath her.

Her first inclination after she'd dropped from the ladder at the house onto the mossy ground had been to run back to the shore and hope to catch the attention of either cruising tourists or fishermen. She'd known, though, that it would likely also be the first place that Jim, Beckett and Jones would go looking for her and so she'd reluctantly abandoned that plan. Cutting through the marshland would at least give her a chance to put some miles between them and then she could seek assistance without worrying about being spotted. Even in the everglades there were always people about and one would most certainly have a cell phone she could use to contact someone for help. If she hadn't lost her own phone sometime during the getaway from the gunmen the evening before, help would already be on the way.

Determined to leave as little of a trail for her pursuers as possible, Elizabeth hid her shoes amongst the tangled cypress roots and then stepped back into the brackish pool, wincing as her toes sunk into the slimy brown mud and the tepid water rose to just below her knees. There would be places where she'd have no choice but to wade in up to her hips, and she could only hope that the snakes and larger reptiles were too busy resting on the banks to swim about and look for prey.

Mosquitoes and deer flies whined around her head, and she tugged off a few branches from a nearby fern to act as a makeshift swatter, keeping them far enough at bay that they'd not be able to suck her entirely dry. The fog that had settled in overnight had never burned off and the intense humidity had her sweating as she moved through the water. Elizabeth used her forearm to wipe away the beads of perspiration that trickled down from her brow and wondered if she'd ever get the stink of the swamp off of her skin. She smiled cynically to herself, thinking that if she wanted to cure Jim Norrington of his infatuation once and for all, having him see her soaked through with slime and smell like rotting vegetation might just to do the trick.

The sun was a diaphanous ball in a hazy grey sky, but it was visible enough that she could use it to navigate through the marsh. It was her intention to make it to the Middle Cape backcountry campsite, what she guessed to be a nice six mile hike along the beach, but one which was likely more than twice that distance and would take a great deal more time when one was stumbling one's way on foot through the bogs. Her destination didn't seem very far away on the clean lines of a map but it worried her that the delay caused by the terrain would see her caught inland when dusk came upon the everglades. If everything remained mired in fog, finding her way out using the stars was going to be impossible and she chanced becoming hopelessly lost as night fell. Beckett and Jones posed enough of a threat – she didn't want to be fighting off alligators, panthers or God forbid, an Eastern Diamondback rattlesnake.

The remnants of adrenaline coursed through her body and caused her heart to flutter in her chest at every little sound, 'though she was more of a mind to fight as opposed to take flight. Without a weapon of any description, taking a stand against her enemies would be idiotic at best. From what she'd heard, they didn't actually want her dead; her near-fatal fall from the ladder on the_Morgan LeFay_ had been more a case of Jones letting his anger get the better of him than an intentional attempt to kill her. What they did want from her, though, was the question. And how much pain they'd be willing to cause her to get it, she was afraid to guess.

According to Jack, they were after a portal, whatever that meant…and since they knew it was the _Black Pearl_ that she'd found, then it made sense to assume that what they were after would be found with the wreck. That's what they were trying to determine, she guessed…the site of the ship. They'd sent Marilyn after the bearings but she'd been unable to figure them out before Hector had discovered her betrayal. Then they'd sent Jack, who hadn't had time to find out, so far as she knew. And then, Elizabeth thought bitterly, she'd allowed herself to be taken and solved the issue for them altogether.

Not quite, though. If they wanted to know where the _Pearl_ was, they'd have to catch her first. And even then, she'd not reveal the position to them. There were people at the salvage operation – her people – and she sure as hell wasn't going to put their lives in danger just to save her own.

It wasn't just her own fate she needed to worry about; if she did make it out of the mess with Jones and Beckett, what was going to happen to Swann Song Oceanic and all of her employees? Now that the reasons behind her interest in all things historic had been revealed, what need was there to continue pursuing nautical antiquities? There was no mystery left to unveil, no story left untold. Elizabeth knew the reality of that world and all that it had entailed, and though part of her missed what she'd been and all she'd known back in the eighteenth century, she didn't think it would bring her either comfort or closure to continue on that path. Perhaps it was time to think about selling out to Tony and giving up on archaeology altogether. She needed to find another course for her life and 'though she hadn't a clue where it might take her, she knew she couldn't go back again.

It was ironic that in the end, William had been proven right. The years of education, the time spent working with world-class experts, the money invested in launching her company…none of it had been for the greater good or to expand the world's knowledge of its own history. It had all been for her, to soothe the restlessness she'd felt and to bring her closer to herself. It seemed a small and selfish quest in retrospect, and yet – perhaps her motivations were as pure as anyone else's, including William's. Maybe his chosen career was nothing more than an attempt to settle the injustices of his own past life.

The low drone of an engine pulled her from her malaise and she looked to the skies, certain that a small propeller plane was passing overhead. The sound got louder, though, and when no plane appeared, it finally struck her that what she was hearing was an airboat moving swiftly towards where she stood damp and miserable in the water. Running on floats and powered by an airplane motor, airboats were built especially for swampy conditions. It made sense that the United States Marshalls would have one on hand at the safe house; they likely had to patrol the perimeter from time to time to ensure that their security hadn't been breached.

Elizabeth's heart jolted as the noise got closer and she slogged as quickly as she could through the murky slough, stumbling once and soaking her blouse through to the skin before she reached a stand of cypress. Saying a short prayer of hope that nothing with fangs resided beneath the huge overhang of roots, she squeezed her way through and slipped back as far as she could into the shadowy little cave. The boat roared into view and then suddenly cut its engine, throwing the surroundings back into silence. Slow waves washed across the channel and through to where Elizabeth was hidden, ensuring once and for all that she was officially drenched in putrid swamp swill. She paid her condition little attention, though, and instead froze as Davy Jones' dead-looking gaze slid towards the very place where she'd taken refuge.

Her breath seemed very loud within the small space and so she held it, mentally willing Jones to start the boat up once more and keep moving. Despite her efforts to remain perfectly still, she began to tremble, and small shaky ripples moved out from where she stood towards the man searching for her. For a heart-stopping moment, it looked as though he was staring right at her and she waited for him to either raise the alarm or draw a weapon of some kind, but then his head swivelled in another direction entirely. She allowed herself a small gulp of air and tried to stop herself from shivering.

"You might have flown, my pretty swan, but you'll not get far!" Jones' voiced boomed suddenly, startling her and sending a small flock of nearby egrets into frightened flight. If he hadn't been facing away from her, he'd likely have seen the disturbance on the water as her shaking grew worse. "When I catch you, I'll clip your wings and then we'll see what kind of song we'll get out of you!"

Jones laughed crudely and flicked the ignition switch on the airboat, filling the everglades with a pulsating whine and a cloud of greyish smoke. He guided the boat about a dozen metres downstream before spinning it around and slamming the throttle forward to continue on with his search. A burning hatred coloured Elizabeth's vision as she watched him go, a loathing every bit as strong as the one she'd felt when he'd thrust his sword through Will's young body so very long ago. She was sick of being afraid; if she was given any opportunity at all, she'd carve his heart out of his chest herself and return him to the same state in which she'd last seen him on board the _Flying Dutchman_.

Clutching Barbossa's pendant for a bit of borrowed courage, she slid out from beneath her root-bound refuge and stood still, making sure that the sound of the engine really was fading away before she moved out slowly back to the shallows. Slime coated her shoulders and hair, and tiny biting insects hummed joyously around her head as if delighted to see her return. It would have been entirely impossible to be less comfortable, she thought with disgust, wiping the dripping green gunk off as best she could. Elizabeth almost hoped she wouldn't encounter anyone on her way to the west beach, for she'd certainly send any sane person screaming with her grungy appearance, to say nothing of her smell.

Elizabeth thought about sitting down and gathering her wits about her before she went on, but there was no time for such an indulgence. Her only advantage came from staying ahead of her pursuers and reaching safety before they could attempt to force what they wanted from her. Taking a deep breath, she tried to ignore her wretched state and plunged ahead through the bog towards the western beach.

* * *

It took two hours before Elizabeth again caught sight of the surf. The gusts off of the ocean moved through the mangroves that squatted in clumps on the shore. Her damp clothes gathered the chill close to her body and caused her teeth the chatter ever so slightly as she crouched in behind the trees, scanning the thin stretch of sand.

The campsite was deserted, likely because the low-lying mist had prevented anyone from venturing out onto the water. She had been so sure that someone would be there that it took her several minutes to come to terms with the fact that she was still very much alone with her peril. All she'd succeeded in doing was truly isolating herself.

Rubbing at her face with her hands, Elizabeth tried to decide how best to proceed while willing herself not to break down with disappointment. Twilight was getting closer and the likelihood of a camper showing up diminished with each hour that passed. At the very least, she had to plan on being stranded until morning, and so had to figure out a way to remain hidden and safe through what promised to be a long, sleepless night.

Once she was out of the swamp, the muck and slime had began to dry on her skin and she scratched off what she could with her fingernails. In a way it had proved a godsend; every inch of her that was coated with crap had been protected from insect bites. That's what it had come down to…she was so disgusting that even the bugs didn't want any part of her. The cooler, cleaner ocean water beckoned to her and she hesitantly stepped out of the refuge offered by the thicket, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings as she stripped down to her panties and waded into the Gulf.

Elizabeth sank into the water up to her chin and closed her eyes for a moment, a sigh of satisfaction escaping her lips. It wasn't as good as standing beneath the driving jets of a shower or submerging herself in scented bliss of a foamy tub, but it was a relief nevertheless. Grabbing fistfuls of sand from beneath her, she scrubbed herself until the mud and algae were gone and her skin turned pink from the abrasion. There wasn't much she could do about her hair, but she managed to pick out the worst of the sludge and gave it as good as rinse as possible in the salt water. Finally she washed as much of the grime as she could from her shorts and blouse, and laid them out over a boulder on the shore in the hopes that they might dry enough to don again in a few hours' time.

It didn't seem too cool if she kept most of her body under the waves and so that's what she did, letting them lap gently at her neck as she stared south through the impenetrable, swirling mists towards Wisteria. Hector probably didn't even know what had happened to her...he likely believed that she was safe with Jim and the other marshals, far removed from any danger. Perhaps with her gone, the troubles he and his crew had suffered through would slowly disappear and after time had passed and she'd made no contact, he'd simply believe that she'd moved on.

Maybe instead of contacting him when she did finally get access to a phone, she'd be better off calling the Coast Guard for a rescue. What right did she have to expect his help after she'd hurt him so badly? No right, truth be told...but that didn't stop her from missing his presence so much that it felt as though a part of her heart had been torn out. Elizabeth wanted him by her side...wanted to feel the touch of his hand, his breath against her neck, his body pressed to hers. The very thought had her running her hands over herself slowly, savouring the feel of her clean skin as Hector might have done. She closed her eyes and a tear slid over her wet cheek to fall amongst the billions of salty drops that already made up the sea.

She understood whatever she had felt for Barbossa hundreds of years ago, it hadn't been love...but God help her, she loved him now, and with more depth of passion and desire than she'd ever felt for Will Turner. She saw him as both the fierce pirate and the tender lover he was, and she wasn't going to give him up because of Beckett, Jones or anyone else. Somehow she was going to get herself out of the mess she was in and make her way back to him...if he'd still have her.

She clambered out of the water and back towards the boulder upon which she'd stretched her clothes, feeling newly emboldened and determined. There had to be some place not too far from shore where she could hunker down for the night and it would be best to find it before sunset. Elizabeth squeezed the excess water from her hair and snatched up her wet stuff from the rock. She was shaking her blouse out when she noticed that the sounds of shorebirds had suddenly stopped and the beach was enveloped in an eerie silence.

Instinctively covering her chest with her arms, she looked around frantically and backed up until she was beside the large boulder once more. There was nothing to see but she knew she was no longer alone. There was no way of knowing if she'd already been spotted, and so she sank down onto her haunches and hastily tugged her sopping outfit on again in case she had to dart back into the everglade forest. It had been ridiculously risky to emerge from the trees and she cursed herself for her stupidity. All she'd needed to do was to stay hidden until morning and with the first appearance of a boatload of campers, she'd have been home free.

Something dark and grey seemed to take shape within the fog as Elizabeth watched, getting closer and closer to where she cowered. There was a sense of the familiar, though, in the way it moved and as the unmistakable outline of a man morphed from within the opaque mists, it was all she could do not to burst into sobs. Wordlessly she stood, her heart thundering in her chest. She paused a moment and then ran forward, launching herself into Hector's arms.

There was so much to say but she didn't speak, instead clutching at him in desperate disbelief. Elizabeth trembled in his embrace, suddenly weak. He'd come for her...despite what she'd put him through, he had come.

"Yer safe now, 'Liz...Miss Swann," he said, and it was then that she noticed how stiffly he held himself, how uneven his voice seemed as he whispered against her temple.

"No," she answered, her vision blurred by unshed tears as she pulled back to look into his face with a shaky smile. "Don't call me that. It's Elizabeth...your Elizabeth, Hector." She kissed him then and hoped that he'd not mind the way she looked and smelled. Despite her impromptu bath, the scent of the swamp still hovered around her.

His lips were unresponsive, though, and she stopped to look up into his eyes, worried by what it was she might see. Pain and a terrible wounded pride darkened his gaze, and her heart broke all over again to see him so utterly despondent. He looked down at her and his eyes dropped, settling on the necklace she'd almost forgotten she was wearing.

"Why?" he asked huskily, slipping his hand beneath the heavy pendant and lifting it from her chest. He looked into her eyes once more, staring at her as though to draw the truth from the depths of her soul. "Tell me why ye be wearin' this bauble."

Elizabeth covered his hand with hers and returned his stare, wanting him to see that her answer was an honest one. "Because it's yours," she murmured softly, caressing his fingers. "Because I couldn't bear to be sent away for good and not keep a part of you for myself."

His expression was hopeful but only for a moment. Then his features grew stony and remote, and he turned away as though unable to stand looking at her any longer. "Ye'll forgive me if me doubts are not so easily laid to rest," he said, removing his hand gently. "Fine words, to be sure, but there's no knowin' if yer heart be behind them."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. "But...but it's the truth! Hector, I'm sorry! I know I hurt you..." Their reunion was certainly not what she'd envisioned. She knew he might be angry, but thought perhaps he'd let go of his rage the midst of their relief at finding one another again. Her heart fell but understanding was crystal clear. His wounds were much deeper than she'd first realized and he had every right to keep her at arm's length. If she wanted him back, she was going to have to prove to him the strength of her love and the loyalty of her heart.

"Time to be gettin' ye back aboard the _Corazón_ and somewhere ye can't be found," Hector said. "Jack'll take ye away and stay with ye 'til such time as I've dealt with Norrington."

"Jack?" she said, stunned. Last time she saw Jack and Hector together, they'd nearly come to blows over the man's duplicity. Now he was a friend? "But Jack's been working with them!"

Upon hearing his name, Jack materialized from the mist with a sideways grin on his face. "Hello, Lizzie. You look like something as has been dragged through a swamp."

Elizabeth shot him a glare that she hoped would shut him up as she chased after Hector, who'd already started down the beach. "Listen to me!" she said in a harsh whisper as she ran to keep up, "we can't trust him. Let me stay with you – I can help. It's not just Jim Norrington...it's Cutler Beckett and Davy Jones. They're here – I saw them."

"Aye, so I've been told," Hector growled back over his shoulder at her, keeping up his pace. "All the more reason ye need to be removed. Go with Sparrow and give me no further argument."

"You'd leave me in his care? He only ever looks out for his own best interests!" she snapped.

"A bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?" sneered Jack from right behind her, mimicking the same tone of voice. She jumped in surprise, not expecting that he'd have stayed so close on her tail.

Elizabeth had stopped so suddenly that he ran into her and she turned, shoving against his chest hard enough that he fell ass-first onto the sand. "Piss off, Jack! Everything has gone to shit since you drifted our way, and I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you."

Jack got a wounded look on his face and laid a hand over his heart. "You're a hard woman, Lizzie. Rescued you from the _Dutchman_, didn't I, just as she was going down? The way you're acting, you'd think I'd shackled you to a boat while I let something large and overburdened with tentacles have at you."

She glowered at him fiercely. "I'd say I've done my penance for that sin, Jack. Lost everything on that voyage to get you back, didn't I? Everything that mattered to me, at least at the time. You never did anything for me that didn't benefit you personally, so don't try to go all noble on me now."

"I say, Jack," came a smooth voice behind her that sent daggers of ice through her heart, "do you have this effect on everyone? Because I really thought that after all this time, you'd have learned that discretion is the better part of valour. Some days, it simply doesn't pay to prattle like an idiot."

Jack scrambled to his feet as Elizabeth turned hesitantly to find herself looking into the smug face of Cutler Beckett. From some distance behind him came Davy Jones, a large and deadly-looking pistol in his hand and pointed at Hector's head as he walked him back towards the others. The scruffy man smiled leeringly at Elizabeth and shoved Hector forward with his hand, earning a hard look from Barbossa in return.

"I was wondering if you'd ever show up, Beckett," Jack groused. "And I'll be thanking you to keep your opinions to yourself. Having to listen to what you think...that was definitely not part of our deal."

"Well, all the same...I must tell you that getting the lady so worked up was a positively inspired strategy," complimented Beckett, speaking to Jack but letting his eyes rake over Elizabeth's wet and essentially see-through blouse. "Mr. Jones and I could have arrived with the sounding of trumpets and no one would have noticed."

White hot fury filled Hector's face. "Should've known ye'd be a turncoat again, Jack Sparrow! Not a bit of honour in ye, conspirin' with the enemy and only pretendin' to lend comfort to yer own kind. I've scraped scum from the bottom of me ship as had more principles. "

Jack widened his eyes and leaned towards Hector. "Aye, you should have known. What, did you really think I'd do a thing to help either you or your homicidal wench? The absolutely best part, though, is that once again, you've led us right to what we wanted. Bravo, Barbossa! I make it twice in one day that you've turned her over to us – that must be a record of some sort."

"I'll be carvin' ye a brand new mouth when I catch hold of ye," Hector rumbled with his teeth bared, surging forward until Jones pressed the barrel of the gun beneath his chin and stopped him in his tracks.

Jack pretended to yawn. "I rather doubt you'll have the opportunity, mate. Once we have what we want, we won't need either of you anymore, _capiche_? Of course," he went on, a glint in his eye, "once we go back and fix up a few things in the past, neither of you will be around to cause trouble in the present anyway, so there's no point in killing you. Won't stop us from doing so, of course...but there's no point. I find it apropos that you and she will die for nothing."

Elizabeth listened as the exchange went from dangerous to downright bizarre. "Are you hammered on rum? What are you talking about, fixing up things in the past?"

"About that whole 'us' thing, Jack" interrupted Beckett, his eyes cold and his voice soft. "I'm afraid there's been something of a change in plans. As it turns out, with Captain Barbossa and Elizabeth Swann in our custody, you've become somewhat superfluous."

Jack barked a laugh. "Really. And what are you going to do? Maroon me on this godforsaken bit of quagmire?"

Beckett gave him a look that looked almost like pity as he pulled a semi-automatic pistol from within the folds of his jacket. "I wouldn't think of it. From what I remember of your history, you made it a rather tiresome habit of escaping from wherever it was you were deserted. No, I believe that this time, we need to make sure that there's no coming back. Not ever."

Panic squeezed Jack's features and he began to back away, his hands spread out in front of him, trying to hold off the inevitable. "I thought we had an accord, mate. If you haven't your word, then can you really call yourself a gentleman? A gentleman wouldn't stab his partner in the back, not after said partner risked life and limb to bring you exactly what you wanted."

"Jack...surely you know me better than that. It's nothing personal, it's just..." Beckett paused, looking as though he was thinking for a moment. Finally his face cleared as he remembered. "Ah yes...just good business."

Feeling sick to her stomach at what she knew was about to happen, Elizabeth turned to look at Hector, desperately wanting him to do something dramatic and save Jack despite his deceit. He looked back at her, his face impassive and his eyes narrowed.

"Bye bye, birdie," cackled Jones, waving exaggeratingly with one hand.

Jack twirled and ran as fast as he could for the trees, almost making it to the first stand of mangroves when a shot rang out. Elizabeth screamed and covered her mouth with her hands as she watched a huge red flower bloom on Jack's back sheer seconds before he plunged forward onto the sand. There was no twitching, no moans...there was nothing but the silent, spreading scarlet stain beneath him. Beckett turned and smiled at her with delight, as pleased as if he'd made a particularly good shot while out hunting pheasant.

Elizabeth's legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees, her hands cupped over her mouth to keep back the shrieks she was sure would inevitably erupt. She wasn't new to killing – had done plenty of it herself in her pirate days – but she'd never seen it done in such cold blood. Not since Jones had used his sword on Will, at least. It hadn't been a glorious battle, it hadn't even been a fair fight. It had been murder, plain and simple.

"Very well, then," said Beckett, tucking his gun back into his jacket. "Onto the business at hand. Miss Swann, if you'd be so kind as to join Captain Barbossa and walk on ahead of us. We'll be following in the jeep we brought while the two of you return to the house on foot. Our boat is waiting there to take us to the portal, and I really do believe we've waited long enough."

Using all the strength she had left, Elizabeth pulled herself to her feet and started towards where Hector stood, still held at gunpoint by Jones. Just before she passed Beckett, though, she turned to look at him and spat into his face.

"I'm not taking you anywhere," she hissed. "Go ahead and kill me. You'll be left empty handed and without a clue as to the location of your precious portal. There's nothing you can say that will convince me to turn anything over to you, you slimy little cocksucker."

Beckett grimaced and wiped the saliva from his cheek, looking at her with utter repugnance. "You listen to me, you skinny slut," he snarled, all pretence of manners and refinement vanishing with his anger. "You will take me to the portal and you will do so immediately. You might not give a care for your own well being, but I promise you that for every minute you delay, I'll cut a piece of flesh from your precious pirate lover and feed it to the sharks. And you shall watch as he dies for you – as so many other men have done before – only he'll be screaming in agony and cursing your name as his lifeblood pools at your feet. In the end, you know we shall get what we want anyway. So the choice is yours. I know what Mr. Jones would prefer you decide."

By way of example, Davy Jones pulled what looked like a filleting knife from a sheath on his belt and flicked his wrist in front of Hector. A wide and horrible looking gash opened up just beneath Barbossa's eye, and a thin crimson stream ran down through his beard and dripped from his chin.

"No!" she cried out, rushing over to Hector. He didn't give their assailants the satisfaction of a response, but she was horrified at the sight of the steady stream of blood, and held her hand up against his cheek to try and staunch it.

She turned back to Beckett. "Whatever you want. I'll do it," she pleaded. Although both of them were likely destined to die once the portal was handed over, she couldn't bear to see Hector tortured in front of her. If she could buy some time by pretending that she would give in to their demands, maybe they could find a way to escape. It was a small hope, but the only one she could allow herself. "You must promise me that you'll not hurt him."

Beckett smiled victoriously. "Perfect. That's the spirit of cooperation we were looking for. Captain, Miss Swann...after you. Our chariot awaits."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Tendrils of fog wound through Hector and Elizabeth's legs as they made their way back towards Norrington's safe house, their steps silent except for the occasional crunch of a shell or the snap of driftwood beneath Hector's boots. The Jeep's engine hummed steadily behind them and Jones sporadically called out snide comments through the mist as they walked side by side. The caustic words were intended to unnerve the hostages but Hector paid it no mind. Sound and fury, nothing more.

Elizabeth had remained silent since they had started back, and she glanced down time and again at the blood that had dried on her fingers. His wound hadn't taken long to stop bleeding and in fact had already begun to close, but the sight of the scarlet stain on her fingers seemed to transfix her. Or perhaps it was just that the blood brought back the image of Sparrow face down in the sand. He grimaced to himself, wishing she hadn't had to witness that particular horror.

He couldn't tell by watching her if she was angry, frightened or if her recent experiences and revelations had sent her slightly over the edge. Only the day before, he'd have taken her in his arms and tried to take her distress upon himself. Despite the regrets she'd expressed only moments earlier, though, he couldn't quite bring himself to do so…wouldn't allow himself to do so. What she'd said, she said out of relief at being found and nothing more.

It was enough that he'd located her alive and unharmed and keeping her so was his only aim. He'd deal with the rest when Jones and Beckett had been vanquished and sent back to Hades to burn for eternity, or until such time as the devil saw fit to inflict them upon the world once more.

"Hector, why do you heal so quickly? I don't remember that always being the case," she asked out of the blue, turning her palm to examine the dried red streaks on the top of her hand. "Why didn't you die when Marilyn shot you?" Elizabeth stared at him as though trying to figure out his very nature with a look alone.

"A strange line of questionin' given our situation, missy," he answered, more than just a bit taken aback at where her stream of thought had unexpectedly taken her.

"She wanted me to know, but why? What was it about that particular ability did she think would scare me?" Elizabeth pressed.

Hector slid her a sideways glance and huffed. Perhaps she needed to keep her mind occupied with thoughts of something other than what they might face at the hands of their supposed captors. Fair enough, he'd give her that – he couldn't risk letting on that the danger was only an illusion. He checked over his shoulder to ensure that the Jeep was far enough back that they'd not overhear as he answered. "The healin' be only a part of it. If ye give it some thought, sure I be that ye'll figure it out fer yerself. Always said ye was bright, as ye might remember."

Elizabeth tilted her head, her expression quizzical. "You heal, no matter what the injury is?"

"Short of losin' me head in the most literal fashion, aye. So long as no part of the weapon remains embedded within the flesh, the wound will always mend. 'Tis why ye had to cut the bullet from me leg." He touched his face and looked at his fingers as though to check the veracity of his own words. No fresh blood flowed from where Jones had sliced into him; in fact, the gash could barely be felt. Of the wounds he'd suffered through his life, it was nothing more to him than a scratch – as sharp as the knife had been, Hector had barely felt it at all.

She reached out and took his hand, looking closely. Gently she ran her fingers over his to check for blood and his heart leapt unexpectedly at the soft touch. He angrily tugged his hand from hers and started walking slightly faster, disgusted at how easy it was for his body to betray him despite his determination to keep her at a distance. "Quit yer pawin' at me," he growled, rolling his fingers up into fists.

"Aw, are the love birds having a spat?" cried out Davey Jones from behind them, his tone venomous. "Perhaps we shot the wrong one, Beckett. Might be she had her fickle heart set on Sparrow instead. Might be she'd not care if we used Barbossa for shark bait after all."

Not willing to let him leave her behind, Elizabeth doubled her steps until she was striding beside him once more. She walked along without speaking for a few minutes, lost in thought and ignoring what had come from Jones' mouth. "What about getting sick? If your body heals itself so quickly...," she finally blurted.

"Don't get sick, not e'er. There be no illness, no infection, not a poison as can take me life. Nothin' except maybe bein' questioned to death," he said unkindly, giving her a cruel look to ensure his point was well received. Sorry he was for telling her to think on it at all. Might do him no harm to have her know, but it would likely do him no good either.

"Nothing..." she said quietly and then stopped walking. Hector continued on for a few steps and then stopped to look back at her. She stared at him with what looked like the dawn of understanding, at least until Beckett laid on the horn and caused her to jump where she stood.

"You can either keep walking, Miss Swann, or I can drag you behind the Jeep with a rope tied 'round your wrists," the haughty little toad hollered at her. Elizabeth resumed her plodding path forward but had withdrawn into her own thoughts again.

Hector left her to herself as long as he could stand it, but in the end his curiosity won out. "And what is it ye think ye know? Let me see if yer as smart as ye have me believin'."

"How old are you, Hector?" she asked softly, daring a quick look back up at him again. She knew, or at least had guessed at part of the truth. That much he could tell.

"Old enough to know better than to say."

"Tell me," she insisted, her attention returning to the bloody smears on her palm.

He stayed silent for a moment, deciding finally that he hadn't any secrets as needed to be kept back, not now. "All depends how yer countin'. When Sparrow shot me dead on the Isla de Muerte, I was nigh on two score and ten, so far as I e'er kept track of such things. And well ye know how many of those years were spent beneath the weight of the curse." He waited until her gaze had returned to meet his to continue. "Two years after ye went ashore with yer beloved Will, I took a draught from magical waters as gave me back that decade lost and restored me health."

"Magical waters?" she said, perplexed. "What, like the Fountain of Youth? A fable, Hector - a myth. If any such thing existed, do you really think the whole world wouldn't know it?"

"With all ye've seen, ye'd doubt me on this?" he challenged. "It existed, every bit as much as blighted Aztec treasure and monsters from the depths. Gone now, like so much of that world. Likely paved o'er long ago."

"And so you gained back ten years. How is it that you are here now?" she whispered, a waver in her voice.

"If the findin' of said fountain had come to me through any means but Calypso, that's all I'd have had. Ten years younger and I might have lived to sail a wee bit longer than most upon the seas. Instead, I've stolen three hundred years thus far – and remained young, frozen in time as it were."

"You never died, only to be reborn in this century? You've just always...been," she concluded, not looking as if she was quite ready to believe him.

"As Jack has often said hisself...died once, didn't much care fer it," he crooned with a wry grin.

She sniffed, not charmed by his attempt at humour. "And so despite your bold words in front of the Brethren Court, you went ahead and struck a deal with Calypso to make your newfound youth eternal?" Elizabeth's mouth bowed in what seemed disappointment. "What happened to making your way with, 'the sweat of a man's brow and the strength of his back alone'?"

He felt his jaw tighten as his phrases were flung back at him, 'though on some level it impressed him that she'd remembered exactly what he'd said. "Tell me, then, even as ye judge me: do you remember yer own death? Perhaps t'was different fer one so fair and so righteous as ye, but there weren't exactly choirs of angels singin' me to me rest when I fell in the cavern. I weren't about to go back to what did await me on the other side."

"What was there? Where did you go?" she said quietly, her tone no longer needling.

Hector sucked in a breath, steeling himself to entertain thoughts he'd successfully pushed to the back of his mind for many a year. Why he cared what her opinion was, he couldn't quite fathom, but he needed her to understand his decision.

"There was nothin'. A great, grey vastness where there was naught to see, no sound to hear. There was neither light nor dark; no smell nor anythin' to touch or taste. It was the curse again but much more so. Truly, it made what Sparrow endured in the locker seem a paradise."

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded haunted and hollow. There was no way to explain the emptiness in a way she'd really understand, no way for her to know the horror of being trapped in such a place. It had been only a year in living time but in the void, it had seemed forever.

She gasped and looked down at her feet, as though ashamed at having pushed him to reveal something so deeply etched upon his soul. "I don't remember anything at the end except fatigue and regret," she said with a small voice. "And loneliness. That was the worst part of it."

Hector sighed heavily. "Happy I would be to say that life eternal offered an escape from them things, but t'would be a lie."

Elizabeth slowed her gait and he grabbed hold of her elbow, grasping her only long enough to propel her forward again. They didn't need to set Jones or Beckett on edge, not yet. "I guess it makes sense in retrospect," she went on. "You are almost exactly the way I remember you from so long ago. Your stance, your voice, the way you talk. You've stayed yourself…"

Suddenly she turned and clutched at his arm. "But you're not the only one, are you? Oh my god! You and Jack! You're exactly the same!"

Hector shushed her harshly, casting a worried glance back at the vehicle following them as he did so. "Keep yer voice down, ye daft wench! And I'll be thankin' ye to keep such opinions to yerself. Sparrow ain't nothin' like me and well ye know it."

She ducked her head and tried unsuccessfully to hide a smug smile at having puzzled it out while he stewed in the unjust comparison. "Ye ain't entirely wrong," he gruffly admitted. "'Aye, 'tis true. Jack was granted the same boons by the goddess…as was me crew."

"Does that mean that Jack isn't really dead?" she asked, the look in her eyes far too hopeful for his liking. What did he care what she felt for Sparrow, though? It shouldn't matter, done with mooning over her as he was.

"I'd not be so lucky," he muttered. A better man would have hoped that the bullet had gone all the way through so that the crew wouldn't have to dig it loose while Jack squirmed in agony. Vindictive as he was, though, he took some consolation in the fact that at the very least, there'd be no small pain in recovering from such an injury as Sparrow had received. "T'was part of the deception; nothin' more. We knew that once Jack told them where to find ye, there was every chance that Beckett would perpetrate his own betrayal."

"Wait…_Jack_ told them where to find me?" she hissed incredulously, her good mood forgotten. "If you knew where I was, why in hell wouldn't you just have come ashore and helped me escape? Do you know what I went through to get away from them in the first place? Christ, just look at me – I'm an absolute wreck! What is _wrong_ with you two?"

Her voice was getting louder again and Hector grabbed her elbow forcefully, squeezing hard enough to garner her attention. "Sure and we could have done so, Miss Swann, and ye'd have been safe fer another day. But they'd not have stopped huntin' ye and forever ye'd be lookin' over yer shoulder in fear. Had to draw 'em out, didn't we? Too long has this gone on – it ends today."

"So you used me as bait?"

"Could think of no sweeter enticement than to serve up that which they'd been seekin' all along," he responded bluntly. "But never were ye in any real danger; ain't just me an' Sparrow as come lookin' fer ye. Even now we be under the tender watch of me Blackhearts. Would not have rolled the dice if the fix weren't already in. Be vexed if ye like, but in my place, can ye truly say ye'd have done different?"

She opened her mouth as though to deliver a sharp retort, but a gunshot broke the silence before she could speak and Hector turned to look back. Both Jones and Beckett were crouched down as low as they could get in their very exposed position, and Jones was looking around wildly for the shooter, his pistol at the ready and clearly prepared to return fire. He dared to stand a bit higher, but a bullet winging past his head soon discouraged a repeat attempt.

Another shot rang out and Jones dared return it with one of his own, shouting incoherently back at the unseen assailants in the trees. Hector cringed as a bullet whizzed close by – they were too near the line of fire. He grabbed Elizabeth's arm unceremoniously, and half-dragged her across the sand and nearer to the cover of the mangroves. He dropped her to the ground and hunkered down beside her. "We're close to the house – get to the forest, there be a footpath just off the beach that will lead ye there. Stay low and stay quiet 'til ye've found it. Two of me men should be there with Jack; they'll take ye to the ship while we finish our business here."

He expected to see fear on her face, but there was only anger and defiance. "No. I'm not running from a fight. If we're going to put an end to all this, then I'm damned well going to have a hand in it." Elizabeth's jaw was set stubbornly and her fist clenched with rage.

"I've not got time for yer grandstandin'!" he barked at her in disbelief. "Ye'll do as I say and get yerself to safety! Can't do what needs be done if'n I'm forced to watch yer back!"

"I never asked you to!" she yelled back, getting to her feet and pointing a finger at him as though scolding him. "It's my life that they've destroyed and I'm going to return the favour today! And frankly, I don't have to answer to you or anyone else!"

"I be Captain and ye'll follow me orders!" he bellowed, standing up and towering over her, his eyes hot with his own rage. "I'll brook no argument from the likes of ye, little girl!"

Gunfire was erupting in bursts now and a quick look back showed him that both Jones and Beckett had taken shelter on the far side of the Jeep, taking what cover was offered by the body of the vehicle. "You think you can pull rank on me?" Elizabeth went on, her fists settled squarely on her hips. "Well, so far as I know, I'm still 'King', and what I say goes! And I say get me a weapon so we can put these two slimy little bastards down for good!"

"There ain't no Brethren Court, so yer title means naught! Ye'll be returnin' to the house if'n I have to get one of me men to toss ye o'er his shoulder and carry ye back!"

Another bullet whined past his ear and struck a tree in front of him. Hector grabbed Elizabeth's shoulders and forced her down to the sand once more. He glanced back to see that despite the battle, Jones had not forgotten his captives. A barrage of shots sent the former captain of the _Dutchman_ ducking back behind the security of a tire, but it was only a matter of time before he'd set his sights on them again.

Elizabeth slapped at his chest, trying to free herself from his hold as he turned back to her. Angry tears rimmed her eyes and her teeth were bared in frustration. "Let me go! I'm in far more danger out in the open than I'd be with a gun in my hand and the trees around me for protection. I am neither a delicate flower nor a pampered lady of the town. I was a pirate – _am_ a pirate – every bit as much as the rest of you. You trusted me then to settle my own scores – you must trust me now to do the same."

Her words struck him hard. It was true; she'd been a warrior then and just as vicious in battle as any man he'd ever commanded. And yes, it was her right to wreak vengeance against those who would have taken her life without a second thought. Letting her get some of her own back, it was the only honourable thing to do.

As bad as Turner, he was, seeking to shelter her and make her out to be something she wasn't. But the thought of the peril in which she was placing herself still caused his heart to thud in his chest. Perhaps he wasn't quite as past loving her as he had tried to convince himself.

Hector released his hold on her and moved away, giving a deep sigh that gave voice to both resignation and pride in her courage. "Yer free to choose yer own fate. I'll not stand in yer way." He gave her a long, hard look before turning and making for the trees, gesturing at her to follow. She scrambled to her feet and did so, staying close behind him once he found the path back towards where his men were positioned on the edge of the forest.

Trekking silently through the brush, Hector could hear the shouts of his men and the elation in their voices, happy to once again be engaged in combat. The smell of cordite tinged the air around them and the promise of revenge caused a buzz of excitement that he could nearly feel. It was what they'd been born to and most of them had grown restless in the complacency of their modern lives. All they'd been called upon to do was to pin down the enemy until such time as Barbossa himself could dispatch them, but even that small danger had gladdened their hearts and brought new purpose to their lives.

He and Elizabeth came upon the first small contingent of Blackhearts, and Hector signalled for two of them to hand over their weapons. Crouching down in the greenery, he reloaded the pistols he'd confiscated from his men and handed one off to Elizabeth. The weapon looked too big for her small hands, and he hesitated before letting her take it from him.

"I can do this," she assured quietly and confidently.

"Don't doubt that ye believe that to be true," he replied, checking the settings on his own piece. "But many a year has passed since ye've been called upon to fight. How many men have ye slain, girl, since ye last stood upon the deck of the _Pearl_?"

She tilted her chin at him and looked down at him haughtily. "I'd like to think that 'though I've not been moved to kill in recent memory, the ability to do what is necessary has never left me."

Her bold assertion caused him to grin to himself. "Could be yer right. I suppose this'll be yer opportunity to find out."

"If there is enough at stake, _Captain_," she said coldly, "you'd be surprised at that of which I'm capable." Elizabeth stalked away from him and strode off to find an opportune vantage point from which to acquire her targets.

Hector watched her for a moment before he followed close behind. The crack of guns all around him sounded out a staccato tattoo that brought forth a sense of foreboding. Whether it was doom for their enemy or for themselves, he had no way of knowing.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

The sun was sinking towards the western horizon but there was no picture-perfect sunset to view; instead, the rays caught each droplet in the mist and wrapped them all in an amber haze that erased all details from the scene. At best, Elizabeth could see little more than shapes. Fortunately the dark silhouette of the Jeep stood out against the pale background of the sand and so despite the lack of visibility, she and the Blackhearts were still able to keep their enemy in place with a series of well-placed shots.

Her clothes chafed against her skin, hardening as the seawater in which she'd rinsed them evaporated and left behind a stiff, salty residue. Her feet were sore from stumbling over rocks and roots, and every now and then she caught of a whiff of the bog on her skin. Hector's blood had left meandering trails on her hands and when she tightened her grip on the gun enough to pull the trigger, the stain cracked and bits of it fell in flakes to the ground. She was uncomfortable and anxious, wanting nothing more than to finally be done with the ceaseless uncertainty under which she'd been living for weeks.

A bullet hit the ground near her feet and kicked up a shower of sandy soil over her toes, and she ducked behind the cover of the trees before she sent back a quick burst of three shots. Elizabeth sent a silent prayer of thanks to her father for insisting that she take firearms training; although she'd scoffed at the time, he'd known that the child of a public figure couldn't afford to take safety for granted. If she had been carrying a weapon with her when Jones had first attacked, the events of the last two weeks would likely have turned out very differently.

Hector slid in behind her, near enough that she could feel the heat of his body but not quite so close that he was touching her. Her heart felt heavier for it; she knew he was trying to distance himself, was keeping her at arm's length so it would be easier for him to walk away from her when the battle was done. Elizabeth didn't blame him for his reticence but she wasn't going to let him go without a fight.

"We be at an impasse," he muttered close to her ear. "Ain't cover enough fer us to skirt around and get a clear shot, and they've naught to use to hide an escape. We can wait 'em out but once darkness falls, they'll have a chance to slip into the trees and disappear."

She shivered at the feel of his warm breath on her skin, and had to fight an urge to turn and capture his lips in a kiss. It would be a mistake to be quite so forward, though, and she knew it would simply drive him further away. More subtlety would be required when she reinitiated a pursuit for his affections. Instead, Elizabeth settled for taking a step back and pressing lightly against him, taking comfort in the feel of his body against hers.

"There is no way of knowing if they've got enough ammunition to continue this kind of onslaught," she answered quietly, closing her eyes for a moment to savour the feel of his chest rising and falling against her back. "Maybe we need to talk them out from behind the Jeep with the promise of leniency."

"After what they've done, ye'd grant them mercy?" he said incredulously.

Another little tremble moved through her with the hot puff of air against her neck and the rumbled vibrato of his words. "I never said anything about mercy, did I? But the threat of a prolonged and agonizing death might be tempered by an offer of one of mere incarceration. We can trick them into coming out and then hold them until they can be taken into custody."

Even if Jim had sold out, she was sure that the Key West police department would be more than interested in getting their hands on those men responsible for firing shots in a busy harbour the day earlier. With the charge of attempted murder she'd insist on bringing against them, the two villains would not see the light of day for a very long time. There was no doubt in her mind that the cops would take her word for what had transpired, 'though perhaps with a few choice omissions on her part. There were some advantages to being the daughter of a much-loved, martyred politician.

Hector was quiet for a heartbeat or two. "I can't let ye do that. To bring in the authorities would mean putting the freedom of me crew at risk. Have ye forgotten what we are? They'd not believe that we weren't into it up to our elbows. I'd not allow a single one of me men to be taken and in the end, there'd be dead on both sides. Are ye willin' to risk yer brothers fer the sake of society's justice?"

Elizabeth turned to face him. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her but he did not back away as she had thought he might. She decided not to push at the first positive sign he'd given her since he'd found her on the beach. "Then what should we do?"

"Ye know the answer as well as I. They'll not leave the beach alive."

More blood would be spilled. She looked to her hand again, re-examining the remnants of Jones' attack on Hector. There would be lives taken; of that she now had no doubt. If that was to be the case, the best she could do would be to ensure that the bodies left lying in the sand numbered only two.

"I understand," she conceded, a bit heartsick. Perhaps Hector had been right – it had been too long since she'd killed to do it with any ease. "Let's try to take as few risks as possible, at least. Ask your men to stop shooting long enough that I can call out to Beckett. He seems to be in control of Jones, even if it is an uneasy alliance."

He nodded his agreement and shouted to the closest of the shooters. "Hold yer fire, Blackhearts, but stay vigilant!" He turned back to her and stared boldly into her eyes as they waited for the fighters to comply. She thought she would see uncertainty in his expression but all she saw was trust. The fact that he would give her that made her wonder if he wasn't looking for a way back to her as well.

The men took up the call and Elizabeth listened as it was repeated down the line. Gradually the sound of gunfire faded until there were only one or two shots ringing out from the direction of the Jeep. After a few moments even that stopped and the beach was enveloped in silence once again.

Reluctantly she broke her gaze with Hector and turned back towards the beach. "Miss Swann...'Lizabeth," he said softly, and she looked back over her shoulder at him to see his mouth turned down with worry. "It won't do to take chances here. Lithe as a cat ye may be, but I'm thinkin' ye've used up all the spare lives ye've been granted already."

"You could be right, my Captain," she answered quietly. She saw a flare of warmth in his eyes when she used the endearment and something in her chest gave a little squeeze. "I'd best make this one count for something, then."

Elizabeth stepped towards the tree she'd been using for cover and wrapping her arm around it, she slowly stuck her head out from behind until the shadowy Jeep was in sight. "Beckett!" she cried out, but there was no response. Waiting a few moments, she tried once more. "Beckett, I've a proposition for you!"

"I've something here for you, whore!" screeched Jones. "Come a bit closer, I'll deliver it to you myself!" He fired at the trees but the shot was far wide. The haze that surrounded them was playing no favourites; he couldn't see her any more than she could really see them.

Elizabeth called out again, mockery in her voice. "Do you let your lap dog do your talking for you, Beckett? Are you that much of a coward?"

Jones started to respond but his retort was cut off. "What is it you want, Miss Swann?" Beckett yelled, managing to sound imperious despite the circumstances. "Are you wanting to surrender the portal to us in hopes of saving your life?"

"Do you smell something?" she said loudly. "Maybe with Jones and his unbearable stench right there beside you, your senses have been deadened, but I could almost swear that there is an odour of gasoline in the air. I wonder if a fragment of one of our bullets didn't knick the gas tank?" She looked back at Hector and gave him a conspiratorial look, and he gave her a brief bow of respect for her strategy.

There was only silence and Elizabeth imagined Beckett frantically sniffing around his side of the vehicle. "You're bluffing, you bitch!" he hollered, his tone not quite so certain.

"Perhaps you're right. It's entirely possible that the tank hasn't been ruptured. I certainly hope that's the case; otherwise, when we open fire on you again on the count of three, I'm rather concerned that the fumes will ignite and you'll be roasted like a Christmas goose! Wouldn't that be tragic?"

"No, wait..." Beckett said, very much on edge.

"She's yanking yer chain, you idiot!" Jones bellowed. "There's no leak. They've hit neither you nor me so far, and they've certainly not hit the gas tank. They're just trying to draw you out!"

"One!" she began.

"Stop! Listen, just because they haven't hit the tank yet doesn't mean that they won't!" Beckett argued with Jones. He was starting to lose control, his depth of character clearly showing itself.

"Two!" she continued. Hector tapped her on the shoulder with a cartridge for her gun and she took it, letting her fingers linger over his for just a moment. It was reassuring if nothing else and gave her the strength to see the plot through. She released the spent cartridge and loudly snapped the new one into place, effectively punctuating her threat with a noise that echoed around them.

"What are you offering?" screamed a panicky Beckett.

"You will throw out your weapons and lay prone on the sand, for a start," Elizabeth ordered. Her stomach roiled. If they complied, it wouldn't be long before the ordeal had run its course. She didn't know if she had what it took to see the inevitable scene play itself out but after she demanded that Hector allow her to take part in the showdown, how could she back out now?

"The hell I will!" cried Jones ferociously, and Elizabeth watched as he circled around the front of the Jeep and started stumbling through the dunes towards the tree line. He lifted his gun and began to fire wildly. The Blackhearts that had been standing at the ready dove for cover as she heard rounds thud into tree trunks around her, but rather than returning fire, she simply froze and watched his approach in cold horror. Before she could muster the wherewithal to return a single shot, Hector grabbed her from behind and tucked her down beneath the shelter of his body.

"Cap'n!" called Morris from close by, an urgent question in his voice. Elizabeth covered her head as bits of palm fronds and wood rained down upon her from above, the trees paying the price as Jones pressed forward with his assault.

"Fire!" roared Hector, his voice booming through the copse of trees, and all at once the world dissolved into a deafening apocalypse of gunfire. She screamed – couldn't help herself – and Hector tightened his hold on her, whispering words she couldn't begin to discern against her temple.

It must have been sheer momentum that propelled Jones forward; he'd nearly reached the trees when he finally dropped his gun and fell to his knees, his chest blown apart and his heart slowly pumping the last of his life thickly down over his torso. He pitched forward with his face only a foot from where Elizabeth was pinned, and blood splattered from his open mouth over her hands and face. Pale blue eyes rolled in their sockets as he tried to draw breath into lungs that no longer existed and one bony hand clawed for purchase in the dirt. Elizabeth gasped and frantically tried to squirm away as he continued to crawl forward, Hector's weight preventing her from getting far. A flare of hatred lit Jones' slackening features as he focused briefly on her face and he bared bloodied teeth at her menacingly. With one last surge of strength, his hand shot towards her and she cried out, trying to fend him off with her fist. All of a sudden, his head exploded and chunks of gore splashed over her, bits of skull and brain matter blowing over her face and into her hair. She was too taken aback to do more than make a stunned, mewling sound.

Hector finally moved off of her enough that she could wriggle away from the gruesome scene, and Elizabeth frantically tried to wipe her face clean with her hands. She barely registered the presence of Pintel standing over Jones' body with a smoking pistol, or the sight of the Blackhearts silently moving from the trees and towards the Jeep.

She began to tremble, the taste of Jones' blood on her lips and the stench of seared flesh in her nostrils. When she had seen death before...had killed before...it had been quick and without the same degree of sound. The thrust of a sword was just as deadly and no doubt more painful, but the aftermath was so much neater...so much tidier than what now lay only a few scant feet away from her. Dead was dead, true enough. But she no longer had the nerve to take a life, at least not that way.

"Cap'n Barbossa! Beckett's gone an' disappeared!" shouted a man through the mist. The ringing in her ears from the proximity of the last fatal shot made the voice seem as though it was coming from the end of a long tunnel.

"Mister Flaherty – lead a search to find that little roach and bring him back to me. I want to see his yeasty carcass fer myself, stretched out upon the sand while I carve from it a banquet fer the birds!" Strong hands took hold of her by her shoulders and lifted her from where she cowered on the ground. Even Hector's voice, as close as it was as he held her, seemed strangely distant. "Mister Rackham, ye'll return with Miss Swann to the _Corazón_ and keep a careful watch to ensure there'll be no unexpected visitors. 'Tis me hope that I need not remind ye of the consequences of not fulfilling that duty."

"Aye, sir," she heard them say in unison, and Hector gently pushed her forward. The second Rackham laid his hand hesitantly upon her arm, though, she jerked out of his hold and backed off.

"Don't! Don't touch me! I won't be...be...passed off like some kind...kind...of baggage!" Elizabeth stuttered, her teeth chattering as she wrapped her arms around herself. In some remote part of her brain, she was embarrassed to know she was going into shock. It was a humiliating thought but she was helpless to stop the reaction.

"Sir," said Flaherty, carefully and in low tones. "Might be that the lady would be better served if t'was _ye_ acting the escort. Soon as we find sign of our prey, we'll get word to ye."

Hector looked at her appraisingly and she turned away in embarrassment, knowing he must think her no better than the prissy, proper lady she'd been raised to be. No warrior and to be sure, no pirate. "Aye, ye have a point," he sighed. "Best that I see to her meself. Rackham, ye'll row us back to the ship. Bring the gig 'round and let's get her home."

* * *

By the time they reached the _Corazón Perdido_, Elizabeth truly felt like a fool. She'd trotted out so much bravado about taking down Beckett and Jones, yet she'd not contributed in any way to the fight. Unless one could count being constantly bled upon as providing assistance, that was.

As much as her arms had been shaking, she'd insisted upon making her way up the ladder and onto deck under her own power. She'd stumbled on well ahead of Hector and down the stairs to her room, closing the door and locking it behind her so she could be alone with her shame. Dragging herself into the small head, she couldn't even meet her own eyes in the mirror as she began to tear the rigid, gore-covered clothing from her body.

As she bent to slide her shorts from her legs, a sodden piece of flesh fell from her hair and squelched against the floor at her feet. The tangled strands of grey embedded within the chunk identified it as a remnant of Davy Jones' head and she recoiled from it instinctively. Her cowardice enraged her and she let go with a frustrated scream, the din bouncing off the walls of the tiny room and causing her already-injured ears to ache deep within her skull.

Elizabeth caught an accidental glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror and glared back at her reflection. Even without her clothes she was speckled with blood, the worst of it on her face and making it look as though she was wearing a macabre mask of some kind. As she stared, tears sprung from her eyes and trailed down through the blood, leaving tracks of pale skin in their wake.

"No!" she screeched at the pathetic image. "I will not cry! I'm not a child and I won't fall to pieces! I am the Pirate Lord of the South China Sea! I am KING! I will not CRY!"

She grabbed the brass-coloured towel bar beside the sink and yanked on it until it came away from the wall, leaving ragged white holes in the wallboard. Swinging the rod behind her head like a baseball bat, she slammed it forward with all her strength and sank it through the middle of the mirror, sending spikes of glass exploding in a shower around her.

Chips of shiny silver flew by and stung her cheeks, and when she looked down at her feet, the sight of her sorrowful face looked back through a thousand tiny shards. There was no escaping her weakness after all; not facing it would change nothing.

She heard someone trying the door to the cabin and then the door itself burst open, the latch torn from the splintered frame. Before she understood what was happening, Hector had wrested the towel bar from her hands and lifted her bodily from the midst of the destruction she had wrought. The remnants of the mirror crackled beneath his boots as he backed up with her into the bedroom.

"What's in your head, girl?" he demanded, twirling her around to face him once he put her down.

"I'm useless!" she cried, now unable to staunch the flow of tears. "I wanted to be like I used to be...to prove to you that I could hold my own, to show you that I was worthy of your faith and trust. Of your love. But it was a lie, wasn't it? You saw it for yourself today. I'm not Elizabeth _or_ Beth. That person in the mirror – I don't know who she is!"

"Because ye didn't kill Jones yerself?" Hector said, perplexed. "What does it matter who fired the shot? Ye did yer part, 'Lizabeth...ye tricked him into comin' out and let us finish the job."

"While I cowered beneath you, hiding like a frightened mouse as Jones strafed the lot of us with bullets." She twisted her head so she didn't have to see disappointment on his face. "If I'd stood my ground and shot him myself, it would have been done. Beckett would have given up easily and the ordeal would be over. But I didn't. When the situation called for action, I caved. And now you and the crew are left cleaning up my mess."

"There ain't a man among us who be thinkin' less of ye fer what happened here," he snarled at her, roughly cupping her chin in his hand and forcing her to look at him again. "Ye did far better than I'd have expected. How many months t'was it before ye were able to hold yer own so long ago? Was it overnight ye learned to fight, to use a sword and trust in yer abilities? Ye've shown me yer mettle time and again these past weeks. I be naught but proud of ye; ye must know that."

"When it counted today..." she said insistently, her voice trailing off as he shook his head.

"Ain't a flaw to think twice before ye take a life, even from one such as Jones. How long was ye haunted by what ye did to Sparrow, never mind that in so doin', ye saved a dozen of yer men includin' young Master Turner?" Hector's look softened and he spoke more gently. "Saved _me_, in fact, if ye think on it. I'd not have been brought back if ye hadn't sent Jack to the locker in the first place."

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "But that just proves the point, doesn't it? I did what I felt had to be done then, guilty conscience or not. Only I couldn't bring myself to do it again today."

"Had there been none among us to do the job, I've no doubt ye'd have stepped forth. But make no apologies fer who ye are, tender heart and all. I'd not have ye any diff'rent."

His last words broke her and she buried her face in her hands, trying to hide the effect of what he'd said. He didn't despise her, didn't hate her for what had happened. Until that point, she hadn't realized how it was the loss of his affections that she feared the most. Her fingers were quickly tinted in pink as her tears cleansed the blood from her face a drop at a time.

Hector wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders, guiding her out into the corridor and down to his own cabin. He led her into the head and sat her on the toilet seat as he fiddled with the taps in the shower. "Let's get ye cleaned up, lass. Won't do to have ye traipsin' through me ship and leavin' a trail of filth in yer wake."

When he'd tested the water and found it ready, he took her hands and brought her to her feet, opening up the clear glass door and helping her step into the stall. Once she was inside, though, an overwhelming fatigue overcame her, and it was easier to slide down and sit on the floor of the shower as the water ran over her tired body.

She heard Hector sigh heavily and looked up to see that he was stripping off his own blood-covered clothes and tossing them into the corner of the small room. He slid his hand beneath her arms and lifted her until she'd found her footing again, turning her so she was facing away from him and into the spray. His warm, bare skin felt wonderful against her back and she took strength from having him so close once again.

Mist wafted around them as the shower heated up and Hector adjusted the faucet so that the water sluiced down over her face, forcing her to close her eyes. With infinite care, he smoothed his fingers over her forehead, cheeks and chin, rubbing away the grime that she'd collected during her time in the bogs and on the beach. The rusty smell of blood and the rotten stench of the swamp filled the little cubicle, and Hector slowly turned her around so that they were again facing one another. He lifted her arms and draped them around his neck. "Hold tight, girl," he whispered against her cheek. "Don't let go, ye hear me?"

Not ever, she thought, though she kept the sentiment to herself. Instead she nodded and let her head rest lightly against his chest, consoled that the seemingly endless fount of her tears was concealed by the water. She didn't know which was worse – her earlier loss of control or the way she'd given herself so easily over to his will, but all that mattered now was that he still cared for her.

The fragrance of shampoo began to overpower the less pleasant odours as he moved his hands through her hair, working the soap through and rinsing away the terrible detritus from her tousled, matted strands. Hector combed his fingers through her locks and rinsed them countless times until he seemed satisfied that nothing disagreeable remained behind. The sensation of his fingers against her scalp made her feel boneless and started her senses humming at the same time.

He took her arms and moved them from around his neck, settling her hands on his chest. Elizabeth lifted her head to she could gaze up at him, seeing droplets of blood that had been cast across his face when Jones fell and she reached up to scrub them away, too. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he reached behind her and he grabbed a bar of soap, rubbing it between his palms until rich foam dripped from his fingers.

Hector slid his hands beneath her jaw and around the column of her neck beneath the necklace she still wore, the slickness of the suds making his touch smooth and sensuous. She closed her eyes as his hands slipped down over her shoulders and gently massaged at the rigid muscles that had gathered in bunches with the tension of the day. He found the tight knots and kneaded them away with his fingers, prompting Elizabeth to moan in pleasure. With the sound, his hands fell away and he stepped back as far as he could within the tiny space. She opened her eyes again, confused by his unexpected withdrawal.

"Didn't mean to...this wasn't intended as..." he said hoarsely, suddenly unable to look at her. "Best ye finish the job yerself if yer able; elseways I'll be tempted to press me advantage. Apologies, but I cannot touch ye in such a way without needin' more."

Elizabeth looked down and saw that he was already fully aroused, his cock curving gracefully up between them. "I don't want your apologies," she groaned, grabbing his arms and pulling him back towards her until the hot, thick stiffness was pressed against her belly. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, a ragged gasp leaving his lips as she smoothed her hands around his hips and over his ass, squeezing hard to bring him even closer. "I only want you."

He looked back down at her, but his expression was still guarded even as he began to trace the outline of the snake pendant she wore with his finger tips. "Would that I could believe ye, 'Lizabeth. But if ye couldn't give the whole of yerself to me before, what has changed now that ye know me fer who I am?"

"It took almost losing you to make me understand," she replied, the tears edging back despite her best efforts to seem strong. "You think that I can't care for you because of what you used to be. What you need to understand is that I don't think I could have loved you _without knowing_. You see yourself as having been something terrible, something grotesque. And although I do remember what you were under the curse, that's not what I remember _most_."

"Tell me, then," he challenged, although his tone seemed unsure.

"I remember the man who stood his ground against the whole of the East India Trading Company. The man who dared to look a goddess in the face without flinching. The man who faced down a maelstrom and laughed out loud at the very notion of mortality. The man...," she went on, caressing his cheek with the pad of her thumb, "...who entranced me with his passion in front of the Brethren Court. And even the man who, despite the hell in which he was trapped, set out a candlelit feast before a naïve young woman in hopes of impressing her with his charm and eloquence."

He exhaled sharply and she could have lost herself in the exaltation she saw in his eyes. "Say it, 'Lizabeth."

Elizabeth kissed him then, softly and with the full depth of emotion that surged in her heart. "I couldn't give myself to you until I knew who I was...and who you were. Pirate or biker, Hector, you are mine," she whispered against his lips. "My Captain. My _love_."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

She had said it and meant it. The sound of the very word broke down all the walls he'd built, had reduced to rubble each misgiving and doubt that he'd carried for so long. Elizabeth loved him both who he was now and for all he'd ever been – such knowledge brought Hector a sweeter freedom than he could have imagined.

Although the feel of her lips on his roused within him a fierce passion, it was with slow tenderness that he wrapped his arms around her and returned her kiss deeply, tasting her as if for the first time. In a sense, it _was_ the first time…every bit of Elizabeth, past and present, was finally his for the taking.

Still holding the soap, Hector skimmed his hands down over the subtle curve of her back, revelling in the soft warmth of her wet skin. He rubbed the bar in small circles as he went, smoothing the way for his caresses and cleansing her of the day's misery at the same time. She moved against him as though a wave swept through her body with each lazy stroke of his hands.

Elizabeth drew back from him and with her finger, softly followed the contour of his bottom lip. As he opened his eyes, he saw tiny dewdrops of water clinging to her lashes and reached up to brush them away with his thumb. Her eyes were still tinted red from the crying she'd been doing, but all sadness had been replaced a heavy-lidded look of lust so intense that her pupils seemed nearly black.

"Do you know what you do to me with a kiss like that?" she said, a slow roll of her hips making him groan with desire. By way of answer, he took her lips again – although not quite so gently as before – and sought entrance to her lovely mouth with the deft touch of his tongue. With a happy sigh she submitted and he kissed the very breath from her, stopping only when he felt her legs begin to shake.

"Is that what yer wantin' from me, then? Naught but a kiss?" Hector whispered roughly, nuzzling at her neck and making her squirm delightfully against him as he nipped at her earlobe. The slide of her wet skin over his, with his cock nestled between them, sent a blaze of physical longing through him that was making slow seduction seem an impossible task.

"No, that's not all," said Elizabeth as she slid her hands across his chest and rolled his nipples between her fingers, making him suck his breath in. She pinched hard and he gasped, his hips jerking with the surge of need the pain brought forth. She bit her bottom lip as she worked her way further downward and took what she could of his straining erection into her firm grasp. "Not when you have so much more to offer me."

The water was hot and the air became heavy as the shower continued to stream down over them. The sounds of his breathing rasped off the steamy walls as Elizabeth fondled his swollen length, tracing each ridge and vein with a maddeningly tender touch. Hector took her face in his hands and kissed her again, parting her honeyed lips and playing with her tongue in a rhythm that mirrored the ardent attentions she was bestowing upon him.

Despite the heat her nipples had budded and, pressed to his chest as they were, he could feel them brush his skin with each shallow breath she took. Without breaking his kiss, he let his hands drop until he could feel the tight nubs against his palms. Elizabeth moaned into his mouth as he squeezed her breasts, dragging his thumbs across her turgid nipples and massaging the pliant flesh. Although she continued to stroke him, her motions slowed as she was borne away on the wings of her own pleasure for a time.

She tore herself from his kiss and once again clasped his quivering cock in her hands, nearly bringing him to his knees with the sudden sensation of being sheathed with in her clutching fingers. "Enough teasing, Hector," she begged, her voice breaking with emotion as she flexed her hips against him. "Please...I need you too much to wait any longer."

The space in which they were confined was tiny but taking the time to make their way to the bedroom was unthinkable, so great was the desire to bury himself to the hilt in her tight, satiny quim. Hector backed her up against the slippery shower stall and taking the smooth globes of her ass in his hands, he lifted her up until she could hook her long legs around his waist. Gazing up into her beautiful face, the droplets of water glinting like diamonds on her skin, he slowly let her slide down until the tip of his aching member was pressed against her glistening slit.

Elizabeth seized hold of his shoulders and her flanks trembled in anticipation of their union. Hector hooked his elbow beneath her knee and lifted her leg, opening her up to take as much as he could give her. Gradually he lowered her, both of them groaning with ecstasy as she sank upon his shaft. Elizabeth's eyes fluttered closed as he eased himself more deeply through her slick passage and she gasped his name, arching her back against the pleasure of the moment.

Slowly Hector began to move within her, already fearing that the fullness of his heart and the height of his arousal would bring him too quickly to climax. She felt too good – too hot, too wet, far too tight – for him to last. She moved in concert with him, urging him on with the leg wrapped around him and making small whimpering sounds with each stroke. He clenched his teeth as he battled for restraint, fighting to prolong the bliss. If nothing else, he was determined that through the memory of their coupling, she would always remember the day she'd revealed her love to him.

After a short while, Elizabeth gave a cry that sounded like frustration and cupped his cheek in her hand, making him look up at her in bewilderment. "Loving you...has not made me...more delicate. I don't want gentle and careful, not from you. I wish...uhn..." her eyes closed for a moment as she writhed against him, "I want you to take me hard and fast...as would befit...a pirate."

When her eyes opened again, he saw there a burning hunger, one that could not be satisfied by feathery touches and languorous lovemaking. The look fuelled both the fire coursing through his blood and the urgent demands of his body. With a rapacious growl he plunged into her as hard as he could, drawing from her a keening sound of carnal rapture so pure that it took all his self control not to explode inside her in that instant.

The water around them had begun to cool as the ship's hot water tank emptied, but Hector barely noticed with the feverish feel of his skin. He pumped into Elizabeth's slight body with all the youthful lust and vigour she seemed to bring out in him, almost afraid of hurting her but unable to stop from losing himself within her most intimate embrace.

Her breath was coming in short pants and her finger nails dug into the muscles of his shoulders, stinging but stoking his passion even further. He pulled her closer and bent to suck one of her nipples into his mouth, scraping his teeth over the hard pink flesh until Elizabeth cried out loudly and her climax began to ripple over the length of his engorged cock.

She stiffened in his arms and her toes curled against his ass as she was swept away with her release. "Oh...oh yes...my love!" she gasped, her head falling back. Hector bucked against her, the tide of his own peak surging high and his heart hammering at her words. Her legs tightened around his hips and she buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, hanging on as she rode out the ebb of her orgasm and the pounding force of his began.

He thrust deeply and filled her with his seed, the intensity of it shocking him. He could feel himself drawn further into her moist silken heat, the sensitive head of his organ caressed within her channel and squeezed with each beat of her heart. His grunts came to sound almost like sobs as he continued to spurt his essence into her womb, his seemingly perpetual release making his limbs quake and his balls contract into stones beneath his member. It felt like forever until he was spent and the pressure that had held for so long started to fade into satiated exhaustion. Hector felt weak and, slowly robbed of the ability to hold Elizabeth aloft any longer, he slumped against the side of the stall, praying that his heart was strong enough to survive the strain of such an unbearably exquisite experience. Hector kept an arm around her, cradling her so she would stay close even as they both tried to recover their bearings enough to find their legs again.

The water had finally turned truly cold and Elizabeth reached over to twist the taps closed before sliding her arms back around him, seemingly unwilling to relinquish her hold upon him. The final drops of water dribbled from the showerhead and splashed down around their feet, a cool quiet end to their hot impassioned frenzy. He trailed his fingers up and down the damp skin of her back, reluctant to remove himself from the sanctuary of her arms so long as the peaceful repose lasted.

It was Elizabeth who finally broke the silence, her voice sounding raw from giving such boisterous voice to her pleasure. "I wish this whole mess was done so that we didn't have to resort to snatching a few precious moments from the chaos."

He didn't want to think about Beckett and more importantly, didn't want her taking the path back down that trail of thought. Not for a few minutes, at any rate. "And if it were over...if our time truly was our own and the world ours for the takin', me girl...what would be yer fondest desire?"

"I would want to ride with you again," she said, snuggling closer and gifting him with a small kiss in the hollow of his neck. "Climb up behind you on the Harley and follow a ribbon of blacktop wherever it takes us, travelling by day and making love under the glow of a billion stars by night." Elizabeth pulled back from him to look into his eyes. "The two of us, flying down a highway forever. That's what I want."

Hector felt a lump grow in his throat. The sentiment was a pretty one, without question, but the reality of his situation hadn't changed. "If forever was mine to give ye, 'Lizabeth, ye know ye'd have it. But however great or small be the number of days we have, I swear to spend 'em at yer side and lovin' ye."

She smiled sadly at him and smoothed a stray lock of wet hair from his cheek. "Let's not spoil our interlude with melancholy, my Captain. Life isn't going to offer any guarantees to either of us; look how close I came to losing you by Marilyn's hand, even with you being practically indestructible. We waited so long to find what we do have...I don't want to waste it by wishing it was something else."

He leaned his forehead against hers, caressing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Well said, lass," he murmured before kissing her swollen, rosy lips in a way that threatened to ignite their lusts once more. Lush as velvet was her mouth, kisses smooth as cream...he closed his eyes to savour the taste.

"Hector..." Elizabeth whispered, spreading her fingers over his chest and moving her soft body against him again.

Reluctantly he shook his head and pulled back, catching hold of her wrists to keep her from bringing back to life that which had already begun to stir. No time now, not with unfinished business at hand. "As much as I'd like to pretend Beckett away and remain here with ye, I cannot rest until we rid ourselves of that conniving, lace-draped dandy once an' fer all. I must make my way out on deck and see where things stand with the search."

Elizabeth sighed in disappointment but nodded. "I agree. Let's make sure that he has stolen his last hour from us."

* * *

By the time he had forced himself to leave Elizabeth behind and made his way aboveboard, Hector found the evening well along. There were a few fires lit along the beach, beacons for the men as they combed through the swamp, and the flames had the shadows of the mangroves dancing along the shoreline. With the daylight lost, though, there was little point in continuing the search, so he instead set up a watch whereby the Blackhearts would take turn patrolling the beach and bunking in the crew quarters on the _Corazón_.

Although Hector had decided to await the new day before making a decision about how to proceed, his instincts told him that as there was no sign of occupancy at the safe house, Beckett had likely escaped the everglades amidst the confusion following Jones' slaying. What had become of Norrington, he could only guess. Dead or still in league with Beckett, 'though if the deputy marshal was still alive, Hector would not miss the opportunity to make him regret his part in Elizabeth's suffering.

There was no chance that Beckett would disappear for good, not with the portal still safely stowed on Wisteria. Even with his accomplice dead, the former lord's motivations likely remained unchanged. Their very existence remained balanced on a razor's edge until the bastard was dead.

The gig was returning to the _Corazón_ with the first load of crew, the exhausted men no doubt looking forward to a few hours' sleep and a break from the moaning, whining passenger they were bringing across with them. Each wave that broke against the small boat brought a new, vocal lament from Jack Sparrow, annoying enough that Hector thought it no small wonder that his men didn't simply dump their former captain over the side to rid themselves of the irritation.

John Ansill tossed a line up to Hector, a tense and stormy expression on his haggard face. "Cripes, Cap'n. I've ferried cattle as did less bleatin' than this one. Not exactly the heart of a lion here."

"I was bloody SHOT! Or did you fail to notice the gaping chasm in my chest, you shite-flinging simian!?" Jack hollered indignantly, looking altogether undignified as he was hoisted up by his arms and legs, and then passed up to waiting hands onboard the _Corazón_.

"Bit o'er the top even for ye, Jack," Hector said, crossing his arms and giving Sparrow a prod in the side with the toe of his boot once the man had been laid out on deck. "Perhaps it be time to grow a pair and pull yerself together."

"Well, perhaps you'd have a better understanding of what I'm going through if you'd ever been on the receiving end of a bullet to the heart…" Jack's snapped his mouth shut as he took in Hector's cold look and finally realized what he'd said. "Oh. Right. Never mind, then."

"Bring forth a lamp, Master Ragetti. From the noise Jack be making, fer sure I need to be lookin' upon this grievous injury meself." Hector got down on one knee, roughly tearing Jack's bloody shirt open, and causing Sparrow to hiss sharply and squeeze his eyes closed in agony. "Shot went straight through, so ye're halfway to healin' already," he commented, pressing on the wound and getting back a very little bit of blood for his efforts. "And 'tis only a _tiny_ chasm, so it won't take but a week and ye'll see nary a mark on yer pretty, girlish skin."

"Hector," Jack gasped, folding his arms over his chest to stem the pain, "I thought for sure once we rescued your distressing damsel, you'd be better occupied lusting after her, and the men and I would be spared your unwelcome sexual advances."

Ragetti gave his captain an alarmed sideways glance, grabbing at his own shirt front with his free hand and jerking it closed. Hector rolled his eyes, marvelling at the gullibility of some. Slimy viper that Sparrow was, the cur couldn't resist taking a shot, not even when he was flopping about on deck like a gaping trout. The remark didn't rankle as much as usual, though; no doubt he had Elizabeth to thank for smoothing the edge off his temper. The thought made him smile to himself before he spoke again. "Shall I leave ye here, then, or are ye gonna crawl down the stairs and into a cabin on yer own? Wouldn't want to offend yer delicate sensibilities by lendin' ye a hand."

Jack tried to pull himself to a sit but sagged back down on the deck, wincing and trying to catch his breath through clenched teeth. "If you'd be so kind as to ask her, maybe Miss Swann could attend to me. Times like this, a man needs a woman's touch."

Hector chuckled at the thought and got to his feet. "She'll not be touchin' any man aboard but me; of that ye can rest assured. Granted, yer as poor a specimen of manhood as I've had the misfortune to encounter...even so, I'll be thankin' ye to keep yer distance or risk losing whatever body parts get too close to her for me comfort."

"I'm not looking to seduce her, old man. I'd just rather have her changing my bandages and seeing to my needs as opposed to, say...this one." Jack gestured offhandedly at Ragetti, who gave an indignant huff and shoved the lamp at Hector before stomping off, muttering about seeking out a spare bunk.

"Just remember, Jack," warned Hector. "Yer the one as was ready to abandon 'Lizabeth to her fate had there been a chance that the enemy would make off with the portal. If'n I shared that wee fact with her, I'm guessin' you might not want her playin' nursemaid. Not sure as I could predict the outcome of yer recovery then."

"You're a heartless prick, Barbossa" Jack grumbled, scowling as he rubbed tenderly at his chest. "Suppose I should count myself lucky that your men took the time to retrieve me at all."

"Aye, now yer gettin' it. Tell ye what...I'll see if I can't find one on me crew as has nice, soft hands to help ye down to a cabin and off with them soiled garments. Close yer eyes and pretend that 'tis a woman preparin' to have her wicked way with ye." The younger man groaned despondently again but Hector had decided he'd had enough banter for the time being. Jack would no doubt wheedle someone into helping; he was nothing if not a master of manipulation.

Heading below deck, Hector wandered down the passageway towards the cabin Elizabeth had been using. After dressing, she'd muttered something under her breath about cleaning up the destruction she'd wrought in her fit of anger, and had scurried away in search of a broom and a bucket. With the crew using all the bunks in their own quarters, he'd have no choice but allow Sparrow to recuperate in what had been her rooms. Truth was, that suited him just fine – she belonged back with him in the captain's stateroom, sharing his bed and in his arms every night.

He paused outside the door and knocked quietly, but there was no sound from within. Twisting the knob, he opened the door a few inches and saw the broom propped up against the wall, the bucket beside it and filled with the jagged remains of the mirror. Pushing the door all the way ajar, he saw Elizabeth slumped over on the bed, her few belongings piled around her as if she'd fallen asleep in the midst of packing.

He stepped into the room soundlessly and crouched at her side. It shouldn't have been a surprise that she'd finally succumbed to her fatigue; it had been a week since she'd had a proper sleep and the trauma of the day had certainly drained her further. Elizabeth had the Blackheart cut clutched against her as a child might hold a blanket and he could smell the leather as it was warmed by her body. He was tempted by a brief but compelling image of her wearing it and little else, but quickly pushed the lascivious thoughts from his head. Another night, perhaps, when she was well rested and they'd put the nonsense with Beckett behind them.

As he watched, her brow furrowed as some stray thought troubled her mind and he caressed her forehead, smoothing away the stress until her face relaxed again. Hector considered letting her continue slumbering but in his condition, Jack truly did need the bed and there was no other place to put him but where she dozed.

He stood and reached behind her to grab hold of the cushion she wasn't using. Tugging off the pillowcase, he used it as a makeshift rucksack in which to toss her toiletries and the few pieces of clothing she'd left behind when they'd made for the mainland the evening prior. That task complete, he knelt beside her again and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She smiled sleepily and slowly blinked her eyes, reaching out to stroke his beard with her slender fingers.

"I was getting my stuff together and thought I'd close my eyes for a minute or two." Elizabeth turned her head to yawn into her pillow before looking back at him, the adoration on her face making his heart turn over. "Guess I was more tired than I thought. Is it morning already?"

"Nay, but I need to be puttin' Jack in yer bed and I'm thinkin' t'would be best fer everyone involved if'n ye weren't still usin' it at the time," he said with a crooked grin. "Besides, if I'm to keep an eye upon ye, better to have ye in me own room and safe from trouble."

Rubbing her eyes, she frowned despite his attempt at levity. "No sign of Beckett then, I take it?"

Hector shook his head and slid his hand over her smooth, soft hair. He should have moved her without waking her first; at least she'd not have been dwelling on their adversary yet again. "Don't ye be worryin' about that. At the first rays of dawn, we'll be fast on his tail. I promise ye that by tomorrow, the threat that be Cutler Beckett will be dealt with permanently."

Elizabeth didn't answer and as he watched, her lids slowly closed and then opened again, fighting as she was to stay awake. "I know. We'll get through it somehow," she said through another yawn.

"Aye, lass – that we will" he said, slipping his hands beneath her shoulders and under her knees as he lifted her. Cradled in his arms, she laughed softly at the gesture of gallantry as she laid her head on his chest and snaked a lazy arm around his neck.

She sighed contentedly, nuzzling against him as he carried her from her rooms and down to his. "I love you, Hector," she said faintly, and then her breaths deepened enough that he knew she'd fallen back asleep.

"And I love ye, 'Lizabeth," he whispered against the crown of her head. "Now and through all time."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

It was the change in the sound of the waves against the hull of the _Corazón_ that finally woke Elizabeth, the movement of the water telling her that they had hoisted anchor. Through sleep-swollen eyes she could see that the sun had not yet arisen on the day; the stateroom was still filled with muted navy shadows and the sky through the portholes showed a velvety indigo blue. Nestling deeper within the warm, thick blankets on the captain's bed, she turned to wrap her arms around Hector but was disappointed to find only rumpled sheets to mark where he had lain beside her through the night.

As the fog cleared from her brain, she understood that if they were on their way in pursuit of Beckett, Hector was likely overseeing the efforts of his crew as they prepared to make sail. In her utter exhaustion, she'd not even noticed his departure. If she had heard him getting up, she thought with a wicked smile, he wouldn't have made it as far as the door before she'd have had her way with him. The intimacy between them, as intense as it had been before, felt new and more arousing than she could have predicted. Where the possibility of what they might find together had made their coupling a powerful experience at one point, the reality of knowing that they now truly belonged to one another made her yearn for him with such hunger that she felt an empty ache inside.

As she tossed back the covers and stretched, the muscles in her arms and legs cried out in protest and she whimpered in a brief indulgence of self-pity. Some of the dull pain was no doubt due to the trek through the everglades, but the acrobatics in the shower were definitely to blame for the pull she could feel on the inside of her thighs. The memory of it made her flush – all over, as she could easily see. Hector must have divested her of her clothes before he'd crawled in beside her the night before, 'though for the life of her she had no memory of it at all. Maybe he'd wanted to be sure she'd be comfortable...or more likely, he'd wanted to savour the feel of her naked skin on his, every bit as much as she would have enjoyed his doing so.

She hugged her arms around herself but her own embrace was a poor substitute for Hector's. Without him there to offer physical satisfaction, staying in bed was pointless and more than a little frustrating. Rather than lament his absence, Elizabeth decided it would be better to get out on deck as well and offer to lend a hand. Considering the danger that the crew had had to face on her behalf over the preceding two weeks, it seemed the least she could do.

Her choices of wardrobe for the day were limited; most of what she'd brought back from the _Morgan LeFay_ during her last visit to the vessel remained crumpled up under the covers of the bed back at the safe house. The clothes she'd been wearing the day prior were beyond salvation, so that left her with a solitary pair of cut-off shorts and some fluorescent green flip-flops. She scrounged through Hector's dresser and found a ridiculously large t-shirt to complete her ensemble but drew the line at appropriating his underwear, opting to go 'commando' instead, as the men she employed at Swann Song would have said. Just as she was about to head out the door, Elizabeth grabbed the Blackheart cut and pulled it on; at least it would offer a bit of a windbreak in case the morning was a cool one.

She emerged from the stairwell into a gradually brightening day as starlight faded in the cerulean heavens, reluctantly giving way to the burgeoning glory of the sun. The breeze, already warm despite the newness of the dawn, played over her face, and the briny mist off of the ocean kissed her bare arms and legs as she scanned the deck for Hector.

When Elizabeth did spot him, the pangs of longing she had suffered moments earlier in his stateroom paled in comparison to the rushing tide of need that the sight of him brought forth. Her mouth actually gaped open as she watched him hoisting the mainsail single-handedly, the hard muscles of his arms and smooth, naked chest flexing as he pulled steadily hand over hand at the halyard line. His teeth were clenched and in the faint daylight, she watched the glistening drops of sweat slide over his tanned skin as the heavy sailcloth climbed higher and higher up the mast. Other men were attending to their tasks, but they all seemed to fade into the background as he worked, each of his movements efficient and fluid from years – no, centuries – of practice. Time slowed as she stared and she swallowed hard enough that she heard a click in her throat. God, but he was magnificent, so much so that her fingers tingled with the overwhelming need to touch him.

The few clothes she wore suddenly felt hot and constrictive, and she eased off her leather vest as he finally wrapped the line around a winch and used the leverage to take the sail the last few feet up. He noticed her and winked as he put the brake on the halyard and coiled the rope so it was safely out of the way. Picking up a bottle of water, he took a deep swig and then splashed half of it over his head, rubbing errant drops over his face as he sauntered slowly towards her.

"I don't remember seeing you do anything like that on the _Pearl_," she said, her voice gravelly and her throat parched. She gave a dry little cough and tried to sound more nonchalant than she felt.

Hector's eyes flashed and he took another quick drink as he regarded her mischievously. "Most of me crew is still a-bed and every hand on deck shares in the duties, captain included, when 'tis necessary."

"Is that right...?" she murmured, distracted by the primal drumming of her heart. She watched with fascination as a single drop of water fell from his chin and meandered down over a broad pectoral. Had they been alone, Elizabeth would have leaned in closer and licked at the rivulet, but the background chatter of the Blackhearts on deck compelled her to check her impulse. Instead, she settled for sliding her tongue along her bottom lip and wiping the tempting trickle away with the tips of her fingers.

He stepped in closer and pressed her hand against the damp sheen on his chest. "See somethin' ye like, missy?" he teased.

"Hmmm?" Elizabeth knew he had spoken but was not really paying attention. She pulled her hand from beneath his and began to map a course across the expanse of his upper body, the muscles contracting beneath his skin as her fingers wandered what had become, for her, a much-loved path. Here and there she followed the ridge of a whitened scar with the edge of her fingernail and only barely noticed that his breathing had become heavier as she went. The Blackheart cut dropped from her clutch, quickly forgotten as she lost herself in her journey of tactile exploration.

Whether Hector was continuing to perspire as a result of the heat, his efforts with the sail or due to something else entirely, Elizabeth wasn't sure, but she watched more droplets slide down over the smooth skin of his torso and disappear beneath the waistband of his rather-tight jeans. She followed the silvery beads of water down his abdomen with her hands, insinuating her fingers over the edge of his belt and pulling him closer. Closing her eyes, she leaned closer and breathed deeply, smiling contentedly at the bracing scent of her man and the burning heat of his skin. If she loosened his buckle, she thought she might be able ease her hand down just a little further...

"'Lizabeth...unless yer wantin' me to swive ye here in front of me men, ye'd best temper yer affections fer the time bein'," Hector cautioned in a low, raspy voice.

She blinked a couple of times and shook her head, coming out of her daze to look up and see both arousal and amusement on his face. Her cheeks went warm with a blush of embarrassment, and flushed twice as red when she saw that the crew had halted their work altogether and were watching the two of them as though observing some unusual spectacle. "Oh my God...I'm so sorry," she stammered, stepping clear of him. "When I touched you, I just got caught up...you looked so...if you hadn't said something...good lord!"

Hector gave her a sinful grin as he scooped up the cut from where she'd dropped it, taking her arm as he guided her over towards the doorway. Applause and wolf whistles followed them as he led her back to the deckhouse steps.

"Quiet, ye cack-faced bilge rats!" Hector hollered at them brusquely. "Ye'd think ye'd never laid eyes on a woman, the way yer actin'!"

"Is that what yer gonna be doin', Cap'n?" called out one of the men. "Layin' yer eyes on 'er?" His question prompted a burst of uproarious laughter from his mates. "I think she might be interested in more than yer baby blue peepers, sir!" More laughter ensued and Elizabeth thought it entirely possible that she would die from the humiliation to which she'd subjected them both.

"I'm sorry, Hector," she repeated as they got to the bottom of the stairs and he kicked the door closed behind them. "There's no excuse for my behaviour. And to put you in that kind of position with the men looking on..."

He flung her vest aside and seized her, taking her in his arms and kissing her fiercely. His lips moved over hers in a way that demanded complete submission, his mouth hot as he pushed his tongue between her lips and ruthlessly sought the soft flesh within. She threw her arms around his neck, roughly tugging away the band that bound his ponytail so she could anchor her hands in his long, sweat-dampened hair as their kiss grew more heated. They stumbled and fell against the hard side of the chart table, the impact causing them to draw apart momentarily and gasp for air.

"To have ye look upon me as ye were...to have ye touch me in such a way...," Hector growled, grabbing her hips and lifting her up onto the tabletop to bring them face to face. He kissed her hard again and her swollen, bruised lips responded in kind as he pushed her knees apart, wedging himself between her thighs. His solid throbbing need was clearly felt all the way through both her shorts and his jeans.

Elizabeth hooked her calves behind his hips and drew him closer, rocking against him to find some small relief. "Your men...they...oh!" she whimpered as he pressed closer, hot and rigid. "Don't they need you out on deck?"

He growled as though about devour her and she bunched his hair into her fists to keep him close, desperate to revel in the full flavour of his desire. Suddenly he pulled back and grabbed hold of the front of her t-shirt, ripping at the material until it came apart in his hands. "Ain't their needs I be intent on satisfyin' just now," he snarled as he tore the remnants of the shirt from her body and threw them behind him.

Her nipples hardened painfully and a tremor swept through her body, her senses heightened with the adrenalin rush that came from the sheer savagery of the action and the promise of his words. This was no moment of soft romance or flowery declarations; it was sex and lust, pure and simple.

With one hand she tugged mercilessly on his hair, bringing his hungry lips back to hers for another taste. The other hand she slid down his bare midriff and found his belt, intending to wrestle his buckle open. He gasped harshly as she bumped against the stone-hard swelling that strained the stitching on the front of his jeans. Elizabeth nearly screamed in frustration when the stubborn clasp on his belt caught, but when it finally gave way, she wrenched with all her strength on both the belt and the waistband of his pants. The brass buttons from Hector's fly snapped off in her haste, pinging metallically against the edge of the table before dropping to the floor and rolling away.

Hector's breath shuddered hot against her face as she slipped her hand between the soft cotton of his underwear and his skin, curling her fingers around the rigid column of flesh and causing him to lunge against her hold. She freed him from his constraining clothing and stroked the glorious length of him, feeling the quiver of his arousal against her palm. Trailing kisses along his jaw to his neck, she licked at the tender spot where his pulse hammered and sampled the slightly salty tang of his sweat. He turned his head to the side and moaned, clearly enjoying the sensation of her tongue running over his skin. She smiled to herself as she sucked hard, knowing that he would carry the brand of her love bite for a few days to come. He was hers and she would mark him as such if she so chose.

Too quickly for her to understand what he was doing or to attempt to stop him, he grabbed hold of her wrists and squeezed, causing her to release her grip on both his hair and his cock. Elizabeth gave him a startled look as he yanked her off the end of the table. The man she saw was every bit the terrifying Captain Barbossa of her memory – eyes wide, lips curled back in a scowl and nostrils flared. Her heart jumped to see him so impassioned and even if she had been of a mind to speak, the awe she felt left her incapable of it.

He whirled her around and pushed her face-down on the chart table. The edge hit her sternum and knocked the wind out of her. Before she could catch her breath again, she felt his hands grab the waistband of her cut-offs and jerk hard. Unable to protest the destruction of her last piece of clothing, she could do nothing but surrender to his will as the seams of the worn denim gave way and she was indecently spread before him.

Her thighs shook in expectation and wetness trickled from between her legs as he shifted behind her. Pinned in place by a large, strong hand on the small of her back, Elizabeth had barely regained breath enough to cry out when he thrust sharply into her, stretching her channel wide with the force of his entry. As a spasm of blinding-white ecstasy shot through her every nerve, the only movement she could make was to claw the slick surface of the table with her fingernails.

Sunk up to his balls inside of her, Hector stroked the swell of her buttocks and spread her legs further apart with his knees. She whimpered and tried to push back against him, but she was completely at his mercy. He chuckled salaciously at her vain efforts and began to withdraw slowly only to slam into her again, the broad head of his cock delving through her tender depths. She opened her mouth to scream but the sound caught in her throat as another wave of bliss surged through her.

All coherent thought was chased from her mind as he pounded into her over and over, each stroke finding unimaginably sensitive spots of sweet pleasure. The noises she was making were echoing back at her, short grunts of animalistic rapture she was helpless to suppress. She tucked her arms beneath her, bracing against the force of his relentless, albeit welcome, incursion. The serpent necklace she still wore– the only thing she still wore – thudded rhythmically against the table as he rode her hard and fast. She grabbed the pendant, clutching it firmly between her shaky hands like a lifeline as she was engulfed by a sudden, heart-stopping climax.

Her limbs stiffened and she shrieked, writhing beneath Hector as her pussy clenched tightly around his pulsing member. He was trapped snugly within her for a moment and as his tempo faltered, a string of hoarsely muttered epithets spilled from his lips. For reasons beyond her understanding, hearing him curse with such vulgarity prolonged her orgasm, and she was seized in the renewed grip of contractions so powerful that tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

The magnitude of Elizabeth's reaction was too much for her lover; with a roar, he grasped hold of her hips with both hands and plunged himself inside her as far as he could. His thighs trembled against the backs of her legs as he came, and she could feel every twitching inch of him, every spurt of his seed as it broke against her womb.

His lust finally spent, Hector slumped over her and planted a kiss between her shoulder blades. The additional weight made her arms cramp beneath her and she gradually relaxed her grip on the bejewelled snake so she could stretch her hands above her head. Through one half-open eye, she saw that she'd been holding the pendant so tightly that a mottled image of the reptile was embedded on her palm. She smiled to herself and thought that Hector, however inadvertently, had left his mark on her as well.

He slowly slid his hands along the length of her arms, finding her fingers and entwining them within his. Little aftershocks of passion still sparked through her exhausted body as she basked in the warmth of their contentment. "I think it's a poor captain who can't keep his clothes on long enough to issue proper orders," she whispered, and her grin widened when she felt the rumble of his answering laugh.

"Ye offer too temptin' a distraction, girl," he said, his beard tickling her shoulder. "Ye've got me thinkin', though, that perhaps it be time to pass the job o'er to another. Long enough have I served as captain to this unwashed group of misfits. Let 'em chose a new leader and relieve me of the burden."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and huffed. "You thrive under the heaviness of that so-called burden. You were to the manner born, as the saying goes. You love being captain..."

"Aye, always have I enjoyed takin' the helm and leadin' the charge," he replied wistfully. "And when we ruled the seas as pirates, t'was as invigoratin' a life as one could ask. But to a man, we've grown complacent as well-fed cats. No chance of dyin', no need of wealth, no unexplored worlds to make our own...I've nowhere left to take 'em."

The sadness of the words shocked her and she tried to twist around to look at him. It wasn't until he'd eased himself up off of her that she could turn and see from his expression that he was serious.

"Where is this coming from? I've never heard you even hint at being dissatisfied with your situation...not back so long ago and certainly not in recent memory. Is this truly how you feel or..." Her eyes widened in dismayed realization. "This is because of what I said about riding away with you, isn't it? Hector – that was only a fantasy. Just talk!"

He shook his head and hoisted up his drawers, the belt hasp jangling as he tucked himself into his briefs and fastened his pants as best he could without benefit of buttons. "Well I know it, 'Lizabeth. But that don't change me feelins' on the matter." He stepped closer and took her by her upper arms, ducking his head slightly so as to catch her eye. "I'm but a shadow of me former self. What the remnants of the _Pearl's_ crew have now 'tis not a life but merely an existence. Or so it seemed to me until I found ye again."

Her throat tightened and she swallowed back the threat of a sob as she clutched at his arms. "I'll never forgive myself if you lose something dear to you because of me."

Hector's brow darkened. "Am I not speakin' clearly enough fer ye? O'er three hundred years have the Blackhearts subsisted on naught but the memory of what we once were. And don't get me wrong – glad we were to be around at all and cheatin' the devil out of all them souls as he was owed. But 'tis not enough now, not fer me."

"Then what do you want?" Elizabeth asked, the lump lodged in her throat making her hoarse. It had never occurred to her that the gift of immortality might seem like a curse as time marched on and all that made life worth living slipped away into the mists of distant memory. Her heart broke for the loneliness and isolation that must have plagued Hector and the crew for decades.

"I want to break the shackles that bind me to Wisteria," he said, hope gleaming in his clear blue eyes. "Take me cut of the treasure and let the men decide fer themselves what 'tis they want. They can choose to vote in a new captain, go their separate ways...to each his own, says I. Then you 'n me...our lives will be our own, lass! We can sail or make port as we see fit. Can even take the bike along with us and set to discoverin' a world of our own makin', by land or by water."

"I...I don't know what to say..." she stuttered. He couldn't have taken her more by surprise with his decision but as she thought about it, the idea of having him all to herself and living whatever life they chose certainly appealed.

Hector seemed to take her hesitant reply as reluctance. Clearly intending to offer some sweet persuasion, he wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed her in a slow and thorough way. "Always will I be yer captain, 'Lizabeth," he murmured, his words falling soft and warm on her lips.

Elizabeth spread her hands over his back. "Don't you forget it, either," she said before she kissed him in return, her heartbeats quickening in anticipation of the path they had chosen. "Wherever you go, I'll be with you."

* * *

Nothing had really changed; without a clue as to Cutler Beckett's whereabouts, the prospect of danger hung like a sword over their heads and the future was as uncertain as ever. But there was hope in Elizabeth's heart that belied the troubles they had yet to face...hope that the torments being visited upon them would end soon.

Standing at the bow, she swayed in time to the ship's lazy waltz as the _Corazón Perdido_ made its way back to Wisteria. The hot wind caught and ruffled the material of both the tank top and the pyjama pants that she'd been forced to nick from Hector's stash of clean laundry. What she wouldn't give for five minutes in front of her own closet and access to at least one item of clothing intended for a woman.

For a brief time Hector had playfully tried to convince her to don her burgundy gown of old, but Elizabeth had put him off with a kiss and a promise to wear the dress when next they found themselves with a private moment. Besides, she'd decided in her own mind that she'd entertained the crew enough for the day. No need to invite more lewd commentary by reprising her role as the governor's virginal daughter.

She smiled to herself. Privacy hadn't exactly been top of mind when they'd gone at it like hormone-addled teenagers in the deck house. Anyone could have walked in and caught them _in flagrante delicto_, as it were. Yet the two of them carried on despite that fact...or was it because of it? Whatever the reason, it had been unspeakably exciting. And just thinking about it made her want him all over again.

It wasn't the time, though, and she mentally chastised herself for allowing her libido to continue dictating the direction of her thoughts. She needed to keep her head clear and her eyes open, and that pretty much precluded further lurid fantasies.

The low rumble of her captain's voice caught Elizabeth's ear, and she turned to see that he'd gathered his men close to talk strategy. They were hunched over a chart, discussing their plan for bringing down Cutler Beckett.

As she watched Hector with his crew, she could understand what had compelled the men of the _Black Pearl_ to keep Barbossa as their commander for so long. Everything about him made it perfectly clear that he was the man in charge. The way he held himself when addressing the crew, the uncompromising tenor of his orders and even the underlying hint of menace that he projected...all of it inspired confidence. And although she had seen for herself that his orders occasionally seemed senseless or even insane, time had taught her that there was usually a brilliant method to his madness.

What the hell were the men going to do without him? Elizabeth turned away, suddenly feeling sad and more than a little guilty. Would they be lost or would they see Hector's departure as a chance for long overdue freedom? Was there a place for any of the Blackhearts in the modern world? Their home on Wisteria was a haven of sorts; perhaps they would remain there indefinitely. And maybe Hector would eventually return to them when...well, when she died.

She had worked hard to convince herself that the two of them needed to live for the day. Hadn't she told Hector that there were no guarantees? But even if there was nothing but smooth sailing ahead and their life together the very icon of perfection, he would ultimately be the one to pay the price for loving her…for loving someone who was merely mortal. It didn't change Elizabeth's feelings for him and she knew with certainty that it wouldn't sway him in his affections either, but the fact remained that it was the fate that awaited them.

As she pondered their destiny, the wind tossed her hair across her eyes and she pushed it back, lifting her face into the sunshine. Their time was short and they had a choice to make – they could spend those days moping about the inevitable parting, or they could savour the adventure and make the most of the extraordinary chance they'd been given. Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder at her beloved pirate and her heart squeezed tightly. It really was no choice at all; she'd just have to make sure she loved him deeply enough that the memory of it would sustain him forever.

Their course began to shift slightly southwest and Elizabeth knew that they were only a couple of dozen miles from their destination. At least the island could offer relative safety; apart from Jack's sneaky infiltration, no one else had dared try to breach their security. Half of the Blackheart fleet would launch and patrol the search grid that their captain had laid out for them in the hopes of catching Beckett on approach; the other ships would anchor in a ring just off shore of Wisteria and act as a last line of defence should someone manage to evade detection and slip past the patrols.

As much as she would have liked to imagine Beckett slinking away and giving up on his obsessive quest, both she and Hector agreed that the despicable little cur would dog their steps relentlessly until he had what he wanted. Elizabeth wasn't sure she believed that the mirror held the power that they all believed, but it was enough that Beckett believed it to be so. In any case, their only advantage came in the fact that they could lay in wait for him. So long as they remained vigilant, Beckett would eventually present them with a target that would be impossible to miss.

She turned to stare back out over the prow again and frowned. There was a strange, greyish mist swirling above the water ahead of them. As the _Corazón_ bore down upon it, she realized that it wasn't mist at all but smoke that carried with it the distressing smell of burning wood and plastic...and it was coming from the direction of Wisteria.

"Hector! Look!" Elizabeth yelled and his head snapped up, his eyes widening in alarm. He abandoned the group and ran to join her where she stood with her heart thudding and her stomach twisting. Grabbing the forestay, Hector leaned out to get a clearer view before he dashed back towards the helm and took the wheel. Elizabeth hurried after him, wanting to be close at hand if he needed her.

"Mister Rackham! Use the com and see if ye can't raise a response from the sentries we left back at the island! Mister Morris, see that the armaments are brought aboveboard and made ready!" He turned his gaze on Elizabeth and there was the briefest flare of uncertainty in his eyes before he assigned her orders, too. "Miss Swann, I'll be needin' ye to get down to the engine room and ensure that all is in good order with the Cummins before I start her up. We haven't the luxury of trustin' that the wind alone will get us home fast enough."

"Aye, sir," she answered, not giving a second thought about their reversion to formality; she had sailed long enough that the response was automatic. Elizabeth dashed as fast as she could through the orderly panic and slipped down the back stairs to the engine room. She flipped the cover off of the engine, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of diesel. Quickly she checked the oil level and the battery charge; both were good. She loosened the bleeder screw slightly to test for air in the lines, but it was clear at a glance that Hector kept everything aboard his ship in perfect shape. It was standard procedure to check first, though – preparation always took less time than repair. After replacing the cover, she vaulted back up the stairs and slid to a stop beside her captain.

"We're good to go," she informed him, and he nodded curtly to her as he pushed the ignition. As the low rumble of engine grew, the crewmen scrambled to adjust the sails so that they wouldn't cause drag as speed increased. A handful of men huddled around Morris, loading shells into vicious-looking guns and weapons that looked suspiciously like grenade launchers. They'd come prepared to take on the full force of the Navy; Elizabeth only hoped that Beckett didn't have such resources at his disposal.

The smoke was growing darker, and the thick toxic cloud caused her eyes to water and her lungs to spasm in protest. Hector pulled the bandanna from his head and pushed it into her hands, and she nodded at him gratefully as she covered her nose and mouth with the thin piece of cloth.

"Cap'n," coughed Rackham, charging up to the helm to give his report. "I tried to hail them as was left back on the island. There's no answer."

Hector's lips thinned in anger and his eyes sparked. "Leave off fer now, Mister Rackham, and prepare the for'ard guns. Keep a careful watch fer the enemy and be ready to open fire on command."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Rackham hollered back over his shoulder, already on his way to carry out the orders. Despite the desperate situation, Elizabeth couldn't help but be impressed by the synchronicity that the crew demonstrated in going about their duties. It was what came of working together for so long, she understood, but it still spoke to the competence of their captain and their abilities as sailors. For a second or two, her heart was buoyed by her pride. They were a fine crew, pirates or not, and she counted herself lucky to be among them.

The wind blew a little harder and as the men in the riggings called out to one another, the haze before them cleared and Wisteria came into view. In that instant, Elizabeth almost wished that the smoke had stayed in place to offer a barrier against the gut-wrenching sight that greeted them.

At least three of the ships berthed were fully engulfed in sinuous, black-edged flame. The docks closest to the burning boats were also beginning to smolder, hampering the efforts of the few men trying to extinguish the blazes with buckets of water drawn from the Gulf. As she watched, one of the trawlers exploded as the fire reached its fuel tank and pieces of wreckage flew through the air, sending the men scrambling for cover and causing her to instinctively throw up her arm in front of her face. As far away as the blast was, it was still powerful enough that Elizabeth felt a burst of hot air as it rushed over the bow seconds later.

After the heat dissipated, she lowered her arm and watched helplessly as the inferno grew, licking at the ships with greedy orange tongues and hungrily swallowing more of the dock. The column of smoke rose to an amazing height, a great billowing cloud of soot and ash that seemed to roil and writhe like some newly awoken demon. It was more than smoke in her eyes, though, that caused tears to flow unchecked – it was the look of utter despondency on the faces of the crew. Stunned into silence, they watched their homes – the precious refuge they'd built – being consumed by an unquenchable firestorm. Their loss left her with a terrible, hollow ache in her chest.

"I don't understand. What did he hope to accomplish?" she gasped, stepping closer to Hector and laying a hand over his forearm. His knuckles were white where he grasped the wheel and his mouth was pressed into a tense, furious line. His eyes had gone cold, though, and there was a stillness in him that warned of impending violence.

Hector's jaw worked and he swallowed hard, trying to muster up enough control to answer. "Revenge, perhaps...or an attempt to keep us from launchin' a proper search."

"Maybe it's a sort of distraction," said Ragetti. When the crew turned towards him, he shrugged and looked nervous. He backed up a step or two but didn't get far before his captain grabbed a fistful of the slight man's shirt.

"Explain yerself!" Hector barked.

"I'm just sayin'...maybe he set our things on fire so's our attention would be on the dock and we wouldn't notice goings-on anywhere else on Wisteria. Could be he figured out that this would be the one place we'd bring the mirror fer safe keepin' an' he wanted to be sure he could take 'is time an' look fer it when we wasn't lookin' fer him..." Ragetti rambled quickly, twisting slightly so he could work his way out of Hector's clutch.

"Blimey, but yer stupid!" spat Pintel. "He wouldn't dare!" Reaching out to cuff the younger man upside his ear, the bald man's eyes flew open in shock when Hector snatched hold of his wrist before the blow could fall and shoved the offending hand roughly away.

"Unless ye have a better theory, Mister Pintel, ye'd best be keepin' yer hands to yerself," Hector snarled as he turned his attention back to the pirates' fire-ravaged settlement. "On me island, ye say? And walkin' about as if he owned the place, I suppose?"

"Just walkin' about," Ragetti said under his breath, surreptitiously shooting a victorious glare at Pintel, who huffed and looked heavenward in exasperation.

"Huh," said Elizabeth thoughtfully, surprised once again at Ragetti's acuity. He always did have a way of seeing to the heart of things in the midst of total confusion, so perhaps they shouldn't have been as shocked as they were when he repeated the feat. It made perfect sense, though, and she could see that the captain believed that the skinny pirate was spot on.

Hector stood straight at the helm, his shoulders set back and a steely expression on his face. "We'll allow him to think he's pulled the wool o'er our eyes, then. Let him stumble about fer an hour or two; 'tis all the time I need to set the trap and smoke the weasel out."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

The stench of smoke hovered around them, clinging to their clothes and hair as a reeking reminder of the hopeless battle they'd fought on Wisteria's piers. Some who had been closest to the fire were heavily coated with soot, their faces so dark that their eyes and teeth seemed to gleam as they paddled their way through the shadowy marsh.

Barbossa glanced back down the line at the small but determined flotilla that followed him on the muddy estuary. Most of the crew had lost everything; by the time the _Corazón Perdido_ had docked, only a few of the ships could be saved. Rather than setting them on a course of despair, the destruction of their most precious possessions had unified the men in their determination to see Beckett slain...in as agonizing a way as could be devised.

Wisteria was a miniature version of the everglades; tangled wetlands and meandering, piny trails designed to loop back upon themselves in an endless maze of dead ends. Early on, a few fools determined to prove their courage would land from time to time on a far beach and set to exploring...the ones Hector's crew found were sent back with a severe beating and threats of far worse should they choose to return. The ones that evaded detection had likely ended up a quick meal for the congregations of either alligators or crocs that inhabited the marsh. Since the reptiles seemed close relatives of Beckett, Hector thought it best that they not take for granted a similar end to their nefarious and elusive enemy.

Whether through luck or some remnant of otherworldly magic, no trespasser had yet found a way through the bayou to the ancient, broken down shack towards which they now headed. It was carefully cloaked by both the decay of time and the dark curtains of moss that hung from the branches of the tree in which it sat, and so Barbossa had ordered the men to stow the mirror there the day prior. But Beckett was no ordinary interloper and although there was no cause to believe that he even knew of the shack, it wasn't a chance that Hector could take. If they got there first, then they could make the necessary preparations to snare Beckett once and for all.

He'd brought only a few of his most trusted men along – and Jack, of course. Although he was in no condition to provide any kind of assistance, Sparrow refused to be left behind at the piers. Knowing that he would likely follow anyway and in doing so, ruin any element of surprise they might yet have on their side, Barbossa had grudgingly allowed him to come along. It was with the old pirate proviso, though, that should Jack's injury cause him to fall behind, he'd be left behind. Regrettably, that hadn't happened thus far, and so Jack sat in the canoe that followed Hector's, wincing and clutching at his dressings each time the craft struck a root or a log.

Elizabeth sat behind Jack, Hector having purposely placed her in the middle of the party so as to protect her both fore and aft. Although it had occurred to him that keeping her aboard the_Corazón_ might have been safer, nothing good had ever come of leaving her on her own and Hector would never again take the chance of being away from her when she needed him.

The air was thick and insects buzzed around them, threatening to make off with every drop of the company's blood. He was glad he'd insisted that Elizabeth find some clothes as gave her proper cover before they'd departed on their junket. Marilyn's trawler was one of those spared in the inferno and so he'd taken the girl aboard, watching as she reluctantly went through the dead woman's belongings to find more suitable attire. He could see that the trousers were a bit loose and the shirt hung a little on Elizabeth's slight frame, but she'd be less likely to trip or get caught up on something than when she was wearing his things.

She felt the weight of his scrutiny and raised her eyes to meet his, giving him a slight smile that failed to completely disguise the depth of her fear. He raised a hand to his heart and she did the same, a wordless declaration of their love that brought the smile all the way up to her eyes. Her fingers fluttered around the coiled silver snake that had rested on her chest since the day before. Touching it seemed to give her strength and she nodded silently to him, giving him leave to turn his attention back to the path ahead.

As they followed a bend in the brook, the slowing water told him they were close to their destination. The thought of returning to the hut filled him with dread, to put it mildly; although he'd seen it at a distance from time to time, Hector had previously made it a point to avoid the site of his resurrection. The memory of his return to life was nearly as troubling as that of his death – dark arts had brought him back and a terrible, pain-filled price had needed to be paid before the spell had been complete. Even now he was haunted by what had happened when he was wrenched back into wakefulness by Tia Dalma's sorcery.

As they passed out of the shadow of the overhanging mosses and vines, the dilapidated shanty loomed into view. All of the other hovels that previously lined the way had disappeared entirely, claimed by the relentless vegetation and stinking water until nothing remained. The witch's shack remained, though, as though the elements themselves were afraid to touch the place. In residence or not, the power of Calypso still lingered.

As the canoe in which he was a passenger bumped against the jetty, Hector climbed from the boat and grabbed the line thrown to him by Ansill, tying it off on the closest piling. Before he climbed the ladder, he motioned for the other two craft to stay put and untied, all the better to flee should he find unwanted company within. Ansill followed closely behind him, the two of them quietly making their way up to the porch and the slightly open door that awaited them at the top.

Hector found the door stuck in its position and had to shove it ajar with his shoulder, the scraping noise making him grimace – so much for a clandestine entrance. He waited a moment before going in, listening carefully for some sort of scuffling or other response to his rough encroachment, but the house stayed silent as a tomb. The floorboards protested the invasion with creaks and groans as the men strode through the living quarters, and small showers of dust fell from the rafters as the building shifted around them.

Ansill made his way up the stairs to the loft while Hector carefully searched the tiny rooms on the main floor, brandishing his knife so as to be prepared for whatever might unexpectedly appear. He brushed past the jars and bottles of gore that hung suspended by twine and wire from the beams overhead, ingredients still awaiting use in some mystical concoction. He noted with disgust the greyish remnants of gutted candles that had oozed over every flat surface and the animal bones scattered beneath the cracked wooden table. Long lines etched into the grime under his feet marked the passage of the mirror, dragged by his men through the door and towards the small bedchamber where he'd lain all those years earlier, slowly regaining strength enough to fulfill his vow to Calypso.

Barbossa clenched his dagger a bit tighter in his fist before following the trail, stooping so he could step into the room without slamming his head into the doorframe. Once inside, he straightened and warily scanned the grim space. The bed frame and mattress had long since rotted away, leaving nothing more than a few pathetic bits and pieces on the floor. A tattered section of cloth that served as a curtain still hung in the window, moving with the merest breath of breeze that slipped in through a single crack in the pane. The horrible mirror leaned against one wall, a torn and ragged sheet hiding most of the flawless surface from his sight. It was safe, at least for now.

When Hector turned to leave, a memory of another time in that very room swept over him like a rogue wave, a vision clear as day forming in his mind. As though observing through the eyes of another, he saw his own body naked and broken on the mattress, twisting in agony as rough ropes held him firmly in place on the narrow bed. Parts of him were whole and healthy...but in other places, he was still a corpse, the blackened skin putrid and squirming with maggots. He could feel them wriggling within him as they fed…and all the while, the excruciatingly awful sensation of muscles and viscera reforming.

As fast as flesh would grow around his wrists and ankles, he'd wear it away again, blood pouring over each of the bed's four corners as he attempted to tear himself from his bonds and end the torment. Candles flickered in the dim room and shadows writhed across the walls, and when at last his voice was restored, he shrieked long and loud enough that all the saints above and all the demons below couldn't help but hear. Tia Dalma crouched over him, babbling in an unintelligible tongue and using her fingers to trace symbols on his body with some kind of thick potion, doubling his burning, gnawing pain with each touch...

Hector stumbled out of the bedroom, his distress so great that it nearly took his legs out from beneath him. He gasped with the renewed memory of anguish and horror, cursing Beckett and Calypso both in the same unsteady breath. Ansill came thundering down the stairs, his eyes wide and his pistol at the ready, looking around in alarm for whatever had caused his captain to react in such a way.

"Sir! Cap'n, be there summat the matter? Is Beckett…"

Holding up a trembling hand to forestall any further inquiry, Hector closed his eyes and shook his head. "Was startled by somethin', is all. Ain't no one been here since the portal was brought. Get to the boats; have the men conceal 'em some distance from here and then make yer way back. Then keep well out of sight and await me call."

"What of Miss 'Lizabeth, sir?" Ansill took a step towards the door but looked hesitant to leave his captain. The crewman was obviously shaken, not accustomed to seeing his intrepid leader reduced to such a dread-filled state. "An' Cap'n Jack?"

"Send 'em up. There be naught that Sparrow can do to help ye; best he be here and out of the way fer now. 'Lizabeth will be safe with me...just ye keep yer eyes peeled and make sure that situation don't change none."

"Aye, Cap'n," Ansil replied quietly, his expression reluctant but his training ingrained enough that he'd not dare disobey. He slipped back through the door and Hector listened to be sure that the man had descended the ladder. Grabbing a wobbly chair from beside the table, Hector sat down heavily and scrubbed his face with his hands. Showing weakness was always a mistake; now he'd gone and undermined his own authority. The whole business was getting to him when he allowed nothing but a recollection to reduce him to such panic. He only hoped that his man had the good sense to keep his own council and not share what he'd witnessed with anyone else.

As Jack scaled the ladder and his predictable protests at having to do so grew louder, Hector stood and stalked away, determined to shake off the impact of the phantasm before Sparrow could offer up some unwelcome comment. As if knowing she'd need to act as a buffer between them, Elizabeth pushed past Jack and came through the door first, scanning the interior with an astonished expression.

"It's exactly as I remember it!" she said in disbelief, turning in a circle to better take in her surroundings.

"That ain't a good thing," grumbled Jack, stumbling in behind Elizabeth and slumping into the same chair that Hector had just vacated. "Early Jamaican macabre style, if I'm not mistaken…she really should think of updating. Perhaps something a little less 'eye of newt and toe of frog' would work."

"Best watch what yer sayin', boy," Hector snapped, Jack's disrespectful attitude causing his nerves to fray further. "Beard the lion on yer own time and not when we're around to suffer the consequences with ye."

Jack raised a surprised eyebrow and Elizabeth turned, Hector's caustic tone catching her attention as well. She narrowed her eyes at him and 'though he did his best to appear inscrutable, what she saw clearly disturbed her.

"I wonder, Jack, if it wouldn't be prudent to have someone keep watch on the veranda," she said, slowly walking towards Hector. "We wouldn't want to be caught unaware, especially since our reinforcements are otherwise occupied."

"A brilliant idea, Lizzie. You be sure to call out if you see anything that concerns you and I'm certain that Hector will be there in a heartbeat." Jack answered, massaging his chest and looking terribly pained.

Elizabeth stopped in mid-stride and twisted around, grabbing the scruff of Jack's collar and the back of the chair in one swift movement. "Out. Now," she hissed into his ear. Lifting up on his shirt, she yanked the chair out from beneath him and Jack had no choice but to stand or fall flat on his arse. Dragging the furniture behind her, she jerked the door open a little further and tossed the chair haphazardly out onto the porch. Jack shuffled dejectedly behind her, his bottom lip protruding slightly and his eyes sadly reproachful. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him in stern disapproval as he edged past her to right the chair and take a seat.

Closing the door with a bump of her hip and then leaning back against it, Elizabeth looked around at the gruesome wares on display overhead. "The last time I was here," she began with an enigmatic smile, "I believed I had reached the darkest point in my life…that I was truly beneath contempt."

Hector didn't respond, uncertain as to the direction she was taking with the conversation. It certainly hadn't started out the way he'd expected, at least. She pushed away from the door and sauntered towards him, dodging low-hanging bottles and sprigs of desiccated herbs as she came. "Then Tia Dalma…Calypso…she offered me a chance for redemption."

"T'weren't fer ye that she did so," he growled. "The goddess serves only herself."

Elizabeth nodded but regarded him with a shy grin nonetheless. "When you came down the stairs, there wasn't one of us who knew exactly what to say. I think you quite enjoyed that little scene."

He couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Aye, t'was worth it if only fer the expressions on yer faces. She knew ye'd come lookin' fer a way to undo what had been done…saw it in them shells and bones she threw. Just had me wait upstairs an' listen fer the lot of ye to commit yerselves to the quest. Had a grand sense of drama, she did...still does, if ye take into account all we've been through these weeks past."

At last she stood before him, smoothing her hand comfortingly over his chest. He was captured by the seriousness of her gaze, deep brown eyes filled with tender concern. "Despite that moment, though – something about being here troubles you. What happened that weighs so heavily on you, even after all this time?"

Barbossa closed his eyes and sighed. Pointless it was to pretend that he'd not been affected by what he'd faced in the house – Elizabeth could see through to his soul when she so chose. But why make the horror hers in the retelling? "Don't know that I can bear to share it with ye, girl."

She cradled his face in her palm and shook her head. "There's no room for secrets between us now. You promised, remember?"

There was nothing for it...he had to let it spill, for she'd not leave well enough alone. He took a quick glance behind her to make sure that the door remained closed before he grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the small side room. Pausing for the length of a heartbeat and a deep breath, he led her in and stopped just inside the threshold.

Hector waited, half afraid that the vision would return and he'd be reduced to a cowardly wreck in front of the one person who truly mattered. Nothing happened, though – it remained just a room, dirty and bleak.

"Months after Sparrow shot me dead in the cavern on Isla de Muerta an' the island disappeared beneath the waves, Tia Dalma cast an enchantment so as to retrieve me remains from the depths," he started. "Had the idea, she did, that eventually she would have need of a servant as could free her from the prison of her earthly self. Weren't enough to resurrect me as a zombie, 'though she certainly knew how to do such. Nay, a mindless drone could not be counted upon to complete such a task...it had to be done by someone as had his wits about him."

"And by someone the other pirate lords would know...and trust," she interjected, squeezing his fingers to encourage him to continue on with the tale.

"Trust...mighty strong word, that, but ye've the idea," he agreed wearily. "She figured that I might just have enough sway to get 'em to agree to undo the spell that kept her bound to her bones. Or if not convince, then at least have the cunning to get the job done regardless."

He let go of her hand, walking a few steps away from her to kick at some fragments of wood and feather upon the floor. "And so it weren't enough to have me carcass...she needed to bring back me soul. What seemed to me to be an eternity had already passed when she called out across the grey abyss and offered to strike a bargain. After so long..." he said, swallowing hard as he stared out the small, dirty window across the room, "after so much...nothin', there was little I'd have refused fer another chance at life."

Elizabeth slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back. "You agreed to set her free and she agreed to bring you back," she murmured, tightening her hold.

Hector gave a single, bitter laugh. "Sounds simple enough, don't it? What she failed to mention was that me resurrection would take two days...oh, only minutes to pull me from the void and bring me back to me body, aye, but two days more to restore me in a physical sense." He turned around in her arms so he could face her as he talked...the least he could do was look her in the eye when he shared the blackest mark on his soul. "Do ye remember the feel of the cold, lass, when we crossed the ocean to find the edge of the world? How bit by bit, each finger and toe would freeze... how your face would ache as the wind whipped o'er it? And how it seemed even worse when ye finally found yerself a spot of warmth, and yer flesh would throb and crack as it thawed?"

"Yes," she whispered, staring up at him with frightened trepidation, "I remember."

"When I laboured beneath the curse of Cortes, I felt nothin'. Despite the fact that we looked to be dead, there was no pain. But while me soul was intact when Tia Dalma pulled me back, me body..."

His voice had become nothing more than a rasp, the reality of it closing in on him again. "'Lizabeth, me body had rotted 'til almost nothin' was left. And it was into that decayed shell that I awoke. Only this time, I could feel _everythin'_. Every nerve, every inch of skin, each muscle...every part of me felt as though it had been frozen and then plunged into a scaldin' bath, then frozen again. And though I was alive and the tissue was attemptin' to grow again, I felt as though I was bein' consumed from within...from without...maybe both."

A solitary tear trickled down over her cheek. "Oh, Hector..."

"Fer hour upon hour I lay on a bed in this very room...and every second brought new agonies, new heights of pain that I'd ne'er have imagined in me most vivid nightmares." He pushed on, knowing that if he stopped talking he'd never again get the story out. "At first, I could neither move nor speak...trapped, I was, paralyzed and helpless. I could only endure as the priestess worked her Obeah magic o'er me. Had I been able, I'd have taken me own life and welcomed back the nothin'ness...and well she knew it. Knew that I'd slit me own throat to escape the torment as soon as the ability to do so returned, and so she tied me down and kept at her task until I was once again whole in body and soul."

Elizabeth covered her mouth with a hand, staring up at him with eyes filled with grief as she struggled for something to say. Hector sadly shook his head and pulled her close against his chest. "Ye know now why I'd have kept it to meself," he muttered against the crown of her head.

"And what if you hadn't been able to gather the pieces of eight and perform the rite?" she finally mumbled, her voice low in sorrow for his long past misery.

"Failure weren't somethin' she was willin' to accept," he said softly. "Calypso let it be known in no uncertain terms that the return to death would make the rebirth seem a pleasure. Threatened to keep me soul tied to me body as the flesh fell away and bit by bit turned to dirt, howe'er long that took. Ye can see, then, why fulfillin' me own agenda upon that little journey of ours was top o' mind."

"I hate her for hurting you," Elizabeth spat, bunching the back of his shirt in her fists and holding tight. "For all that she inflicted upon you to meet her own ends."

The wry smile that formed on his lips was more for him than her. "But I don't."

Startled, she jerked back and tilted her face up towards his. "What? Why not?"

"Because, Elizabet' Swann," came a softly lilting voice from beside the mirror, "him know dat ye would not have loved him wit'out all dat him suffered."

Elizabeth's jaw fell open and she gawked wide-eyed at him, as though waiting for him to tell her that she'd imagined the words. Hector sighed and shrugged his shoulders before he removed himself from her embrace and turned towards the beautiful black woman standing in front of the portal. He bowed reverently and pulled on Elizabeth's arm until she did the same.

"Was wonderin' when ye'd see fit to grace us with yer presence, Goddess," he said, daring a glance back up at her. She smiled at him, straightening her shoulders proudly to show off her iridescent silver gown and dark, braided locks.

"Fergot I did, Hectah, what dose watahs did to ye," Calypso replied, sauntering towards him and reaching out to stroke his beard. "Ye be a fine lookin' mon. Might be havin' to test yer viga wit' dis mortal body, enjoy da fruits of my labours."

He rose and inclined his head. "An' tempted I'd be to take ye up on yer offer, had I not already given me love to another. Surely ye'd not ask me to break faith with 'Lizabeth." No sense to be angering the goddess, not after having stoked her memory with a litany of his previous torments

"No, she most certainly won't," snarled Elizabeth, stepping between them. "He is mine now. Goddess or not, you won't be touching him again without having to come through me."

There was a spike of fear that wedged itself in Hector's heart at the girl's words; Calypso wasn't one to take a challenge lightly. It was with surprise, then, that he heard her laugh gaily at Elizabeth's possessive threat.

"Don cha worry," Calypso said, delight shining in her flashing black eyes as she sashayed away from them. "Jus' had to see fer myself dat ye'd taken da vow ye made to heart."

"Vow..?" Elizabeth's forehead creased as she tried to figure out what the goddess was trying to say.

Before Calypso could respond, the front door burst open and Jack came bumbling through, finally falling against the door jam of the bed chamber and gasping in pain.

"Witty Jack!" the deity exclaimed with delight. She smoothed her hands down over her gown, preening as she turned her eye to Barbossa's rival.

Jack held up his hand, his eyes squeezing closed as he caught his breath and fought against the agony of his injury. "Now that...the gang's all here, I thought it might be the opportune time to let you know... we've got company."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

A thunderous storm of bullets suddenly tore through the front of the shack, shattering every window and leaving behind holes that quickly filled with speckled sunlight. Jack instinctively threw his arms up over his head and dropped to the floor as chunks of wood rained down upon him, wriggling forward on his elbows until he'd reached the rickety old table. He jerked on the legs and it tipped forward with a dull thud, offering a somewhat suspect barrier behind which he could scramble for cover. Calypso vanished as swiftly as she'd appeared, once again abandoning them when they most needed her help.

Hector grabbed Elizabeth and dragged her behind the heavy bedchamber door. He pressed her against the inside wall, sheltering her with his body and holding her tightly against him as splinters flew and shells burrowed into the walls around them. In the room beside them, the bottles hanging from the ceiling exploded as they were struck and a gag-inducing stench filled the tiny hovel. Elizabeth buried her face against Hector's chest, clamping her hands over her ears to find some muted peace in the midst of the barrage. Her heart slammed against her ribs with such force that she was certain that she would have been able to hear it if not for the horrible cacophony.

Although it seemed to go on forever, the onslaught lasted less than a minute. As abruptly as it had begun, the gunfire ceased and for a moment or two, the absence of sound echoed in her ears almost as painfully as had the noise. Elizabeth slowly lifted her head and looked into Hector's face, staring at him as she waited for the shooting to begin again.

"Caught in our own trap," he growled, his jaw set and his eyes blazing furiously. "And without a proper weapon with which to defend ourselves."

"The guns..." she said, her heart sinking. She swallowed hard, the fear tightening her throat. They'd brought along plenty of fire power; unfortunately, it was all in the boats with the crew and too far away to be of any use. Their best hope was that the Blackhearts would make their way back in time to provide much-needed reinforcements.

"Barbossa! Have I got your attention? Or did I get lucky and blow your head off – in which case, don't feel you need to answer right away!"

The two of them paused and listened to the hail. It was a man, 'though not one familiar to Elizabeth. It seemed to have come from across the brook, a wheedling taunt with a faint Spanish accent. Loud, rough guffaws followed the declaration and Elizabeth watched Hector's expression grow cold. "That be Villanueva…and his Centurions," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Roman soldiers? What are you talking about?" she asked, perplexed.

He grimaced. "Nay, not soldiers…bikers. Another club, one as has coveted Blackheart territory fer years. Closest thing to real enemies as we've got, 'though they've not been much of a threat fer all that. 'Til now, in any case."

"What do they have to do with any of this? It can't be coincidence," Elizabeth said, shaking her head.

"If they be here, likely it is that Beckett has brought them in and fer the purpose of finishin' us off once an' fer all. T'was a smart move, ye must give the credit to Beckett. He took pains to learn who his best allies would be and the reward he'd need offer as would best ensure their loyalty."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall. Her ears were still pounding from the roar of gunfire and the tension of the moment was not helping the horrible ache in the least. "Beckett gets the mirror and offers up your operation to the Centurions in exchange for their service as mercenaries."

"Somethin' like that, aye." His head slumped forward and his voice was coloured with tired disgust. "Too arrogant I was to believe that we couldn't be followed here. Not half so clever as I thought meself and now we find ourselves in a fight we cannot win."

"Well, there has to be something we can do! Maybe there are muskets or swords hidden around this place. Even if they're old, they'd be better than nothing at all…" she stated determinedly, trying not to sound as desperate as she had started to feel. "We're not just going to give up!"

"'Lizabeth," Hector said quietly, taking her firmly by the shoulders and staring down at her, "I need ye to listen to me now and not give me any back talk. There be many a way out of this here shack…Tia Dalma made sure of that. Ye must take me dagger and attempt an escape. If they rush us, I won't be able to protect ye but I can distract 'em long enough that ye can get away."

Elizabeth felt her stomach twist with wretched disbelief…it wasn't the first time that a man had tried to get her to safety knowing full well that he'd likely not survive the battle. She grabbed hold of his arms, holding tightly enough that her fingernails scored little crescents into his skin. "No! You can't mean that!"

"Barbossa!" hollered their distant assailant, drawing their focus from one another. "I'm not an unreasonable man! Give up now, and I'll let you and your men leave the island with whatever we didn't already burn to a cinder."

"Lying bastard," snorted Jack from the other side of the door. "No way he'll let any of us live. Well he knows that we'd hack him to pieces first chance we got."

"Answer Villanueva!" Elizabeth told Hector, pulling away from him and stepping back out into the room. "Keep him talking, buy us some time! Maybe the crew will make it back in time to help us." He tried to catch her but she dodged his attempt and slipped back into the main room. So far as she was concerned, the time for talking was finished.

"We can't count upon the crew, girl," he said gently, following her out. "Ye think that they've not already captured me men? 'Tis what I'd have done – to make sure we had no chance left at all."

She was getting angry now. "You can't know that!" she erupted, pointing a shaky finger at him. "Maybe Villanueva's crew didn't see where the men went…they could be on their way back to us already! We're not finished – not even close!" Elizabeth didn't wait for an answer but instead whirled and flew up the stairs, determined to find something – anything – with which they could defend themselves.

The rafters were low and she had to duck frequently as she moved through the shadowy garret, tipping over chests and yanking aside heavy sheets of canvas in a manic search. They'd fought their way out of worse situations before and she knew that they could do it again. A few well-placed shots, that's all it would take…they only needed to hold off the Centurions until help could arrive.

Elizabeth heard the slow, steady tromp of Hector's boots behind her on the steps but she refused to turn despite feeling his gaze settle on her. She continued her panicked hunt amongst the refuse and heard something metallic clunk against the floor as she knocked over a wooden crate. Her heart jumped with hope as she groped around and she cried out triumphantly as she found the handle of an ancient pistol. Falling to her knees, she began to dig through frantically under the debris, trying to find powder and shot to go along with it.

"They'll not wait much longer before they start to shootin' again," Hector murmured, crouching at her side. He took the dilapidated gun from her and she snarled in protest as he tossed it to the side. Taking her hands and folding them within his, he said, "My love, ye cannot stay."

"Stop saying that!" she cried as she wrenched herself from his embrace, the sight of him blurring as tears began to pool in her eyes. "If this is the end, then at the very least we'll be together. I'm not going to leave you…"

"Listen to what I be tellin ye," he insisted brusquely. He took her hands again and squeezed them harder to make sure he had her attention. "I'll hear none of that from yer lips. If ye think I'll be rollin' over fer the likes of Beckett and Villanueva, ye don't know me so well as I thought. From where we sit in this tree, Sparrow an' me can stand against any assault they care to launch...a few wounds more fer us won't make any difference, and so long as we can coax the Centurions into wasting' their ammunition upon the house, we can dispatch 'em one by one as they attempt to enter. But ye..." Hector closed his lids and sighed heavily before looking back at her with stormy blue eyes. "It would take but a single stray shot and ye'd be gone. Don't ye ask me to take such a chance."

"But you're willing to ask it of me, aren't you?" Elizabeth snapped, her fright over the thought of leaving him behind shortening her temper even further.

"Enough!" he barked, and pulled her to her feet. "Do ye believe that I've lived so long as I have and gone through hell to win yer heart only to up and die on ye now? Tell me true – have ye forgotten who I be, woman? Or _what I be?!_"

She knew…more than anyone, she knew who and what he was - fierce, brave, ruthless and relentless. Her lover, her captain. And as much as she believed in his ability and courage, too often fate had dealt him an unfair hand, and there was no guarantee that it wouldn't happen again. "We could invoke Calypso's name and beg her to get us out of this nightmare…" she began tentatively but he shook his head.

"Even if t'were possible fer her to grant us such a favour, we've nothin' left with which to bargain. Bound to her we be already – Sparrow, meself, me crew – and set we are to do her will. She'd not listen."

"What do you mean, if it was possible? She's a goddess, isn't she? Besides, by my accounts, she owes you something for all that you've been put through," Elizabeth said indignantly.

"Ye don't understand, lass, and we haven't the time fer a history lesson..." Hector sighed, drawing her back towards the stairwell. "Suffice it to say that the powers of a deity are only so strong as the sum of men who heed her call. Nowadays, those of us as revere the ancient ones are few...and once we're gone, there'll be none left to sustain her. Nay, ye must believe in her to be moved by her influence – and so she cannot touch them as stand against us."

"Then what bloody good is she?!" Elizabeth screamed, letting out her anguish. She braced her feet against the floor in a last ditch attempt to fight her forced departure.

Hector's eyes glinted dangerously at her resistance and he shook her once, hard. "Ye try me patience and act the fool now! Every moment ye delay means that the enemy comes one step closer to victory. Keep up this mule-headedness and ye'll put all of us at risk! No good comes from hopin' for help where none will be forthcomin'. We have to rely upon our wits...and ye need to give me yer trust once more."

She glared defiantly at him but her resolve wavered at the desperate fear she saw in his expression. "I don't want to go," she whispered, giving up the struggle. "Not without you."

"I know. But ye must. We cannot leave the mirror to Beckett."

Feeling broken and despondent, she finally nodded her agreement and allowed him lead her back down the stairs to the main floor.

* * *

Despite the slickness of the mud beneath her feet and the grim darkness of the cramped, narrow tunnel, Elizabeth raced as quickly as she could towards the faint daylight ahead. Dangling roots from the surrounding trees reached out to snag her hair and whipped against her arms and legs, but she shrugged off the brief flashes of pain without a thought. She could already hear stifled gunfire from far behind her and there wasn't a second to spare.

She slid wildly in a slimy puddle of dank water for a moment and let out a squeak of surprise, but quickly regained her balance and continued on her urgent mission. Despite what Hector had said, she knew that all hopes of victory rested on her getting to the crew – and doing so before it was too late.

After leading her down the steps, Hector had decided that her best escape route was through the hollow centre of the tree and down to a tunnel that had long ago been hewn through the limestone. It ended a good mile away from the tree, far enough away from the skirmish that neither Beckett nor his hired goons would spot her when she finally emerged.

Leaving Hector had been a worse ordeal than she'd been capable of imagining. As Jack forced open the warped boards that hid the trap door in the middle of the house, Hector tried to take her in his arms...tried to say goodbye. She'd pulled away and turned her back on him before slipping into the damp chute through the tree's trunk, knowing that in doing so she had hurt him deeply. It wasn't that she was angry at him for making her leave – she understood, knew that he felt it was right to do so.

But if they said their farewells...if she accepted one last, lingering kiss before going...it might have been the last one ever and that was not something that Elizabeth could accept. She knew that until the darkness had enfolded her entirely, he'd watched her descend through the painfully narrow shaft– one that neither he nor Jack would have been able to navigate – but she'd not allowed herself even one look back. It would have been her undoing.

But what if it was the last time she'd ever see him alive and she'd not taken that final opportunity to let him know how much she loved him...how despite the unlikelihood of their pairing, he had come to mean everything to her? The possibility wasn't something that could bear consideration, so instead of dwelling on the regret that threatened to rend her heart in two, she decided to focus on getting to safety and ensuring that she would have the chance to make it up to him.

Elizabeth glanced down at the heavy dagger Hector had pressed into her hand and clenched the hilt tightly, making a silent vow to herself that she'd not let it go until she could return it to its rightful owner. Her own promise brought with it a sudden, staggering realization of what that same kind of vow had meant to Will Turner so long ago...and an understanding of the driving obsession he'd followed to save his father even if it had almost come at the expense of the lives – and love – of all others.

She came to a faltering stop and stood for a few seconds, thinking back on that time. His fixation on his quest should have been a sure sign that she and Will were not meant for one another – as noble as his goal had been, it had too easily eclipsed everything else in this life and most notably, his feelings for her. Had she known how things would have gone in the long run, she'd not have agreed to marry him. Not that day of the battle and not any other day. How little Will had changed between centuries...perhaps the fact that they had drifted apart like they had in the present day meant that the same could not be said of her.

Another faint burst of gunfire startled her and set her to running again. Dim light began to brighten the narrow warren and a fresh burst of energy propelled her forward. She clawed at the dirt that had, over time, fallen to block the way out. Soil wedged itself beneath her fingernails and her heart pounded in her chest as a wave of unexpected claustrophobia swept over her, and she dug even faster to widen the gap. Finally there was enough space through which she could squeeze and she wriggled through the opening, reborn from the earth onto a soft bed of ferns that had long camouflaged the hole.

Elizabeth lay staring up at the fair blue sky, gasping in cleaner and considerably fresher air until she calmed down. She listened carefully but could not hear anything...the silence was malevolent and cold, worse than the gunshots by far. Scrambling to her feet, she looked around to orient herself and then started back towards the brook, circling around what she judged to be the perimeter of the conflict. The direction she chose was the same one in which she'd seen the Blackhearts take the boats.

Branches and long grass whipped at her legs and stung even through the material of her pants. She tried to move quietly but finally abandoned the idea, choosing speed over stealth as she loped through the bush and around gnarled trees. The sun was high and the day was hot, making her sweat through her light cotton clothing in a matter of minutes. Her hatred of Beckett grew with every stride, as did her determination to save Hector and his men.

A sinuous movement at her feet drew her eye and she caught sight of a coral snake in her path – generally nonaggressive but potentially lethal all the same. She staggered to a halt and it was at that moment that she was sure she'd heard faint male voices wafting through the forest. The small, colourful serpent stopped moving as well, seeming to regard her curiously for a moment before it slithered away and hid itself within the confines of a rotting log. She waited a prudent amount of time to ensure that it had indeed moved on and then started forward again, listening intently as she stalked through the brush.

A laugh...a harsh yell...she was still too far away to hear the words, but there was no doubt that there were people ahead. Elizabeth wiped at the perspiration that slid from her brow and down over her face, blinking hard to keep the sweat out of her eyes. The voices increased in volume as she crept closer, crouching in shadow and parting the flora to see what lay ahead.

She saw a small lagoon, overhung with peat and draping branches. The Blackheart boats were moored on the shoreline, the tarps intact and the craft bobbing around as the waves gently lapped the dark sandy beach. Lined up in front of the boats were Hector's crewmen, their arms above their heads and their expressions twisted with rage. A handful of burly, bearded men with unfamiliar leather cuts – the Centurions, of course – moved around them, jabbing them in the ribs with the long barrels of their assault weapons. And overseeing it all from a respectable distance was Jim Norrington, an Uzi held slackly in his hands and a sickened look on his face as he witnessed the spectacle. The night must have been a rough one for him, she guessed…he had gone without shaving, wore the same clothes he'd had on at the safe house, and his eyes were red and pouched.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him, willing him to feel the weight of her fury. Traitorous bastard! Bad enough that he'd been party to her abduction, but she suspected he was in far deeper than he'd thought possible. No doubt he'd attempt to justify his actions in his own mind, draping them in the guise of superior motives, righteousness and concern for her. There was no compassion in her left for him, though...and as much as he'd used his friendship with her to deceive her, so would she press her advantage and use the guilt with which he was so clearly struggling to achieve her own ends. In so much as he'd betrayed her, she knew he wouldn't risk harming her physically.

She slunk around the edge of the clearing, keeping a close eye on the bikers and wincing as one of them swung the butt of his gun up and across Pintel's face. Despite the blood that bubbled from the wounds in his mouth, the balding pirate grinned and widened his eyes maniacally at his assailant, causing the thug to take an instinctive step back despite having the upper hand. Elizabeth smiled – the Centurions were bold so long as they had the advantage, but she wondered if they'd have any courage at all if they had to face her comrades in a fair fight. It was her goal that they have the chance to find out exactly that.

Jim was so focused on the scuffle that she was able to take up a position only a few feet behind him without his noticing. She crouched low and undid the laces on her boots – thank goodness Marilyn had not owned ones with jingling buckles – and stepped out with sock feet onto the forest floor, all the better to muffle her advance.

Her movement caught Ragetti's one good eye and he quickly looked elsewhere in order to not give her away, nudging Flaherty with his shoulder and whispering something covertly. As she inched closer to her target, she saw word spread throughout the Blackheart contingent and Ansill gave a sweeping glance around the treeline, settling briefly on her before continuing on. He leaned closer to Pintel, whose expression didn't change in the least but who nodded once to acknowledge whatever message had been passed down the line.

Before she could take another surreptitious step, Pintel turned and shoved Ansill hard, nearly knocking him over. "This is your bloody fault, ain't it? Always actin' all high and mighty, an' here we bin caught!" Pintel screamed. "An' now me pricy dental work is ruined, ye mangy weasel!"

"Oi! As if havin' good teef made up fer the rest of yer ugly mug!" yelled Flaherty, reaching over to smack Pintel in the back of the head. "Lipstick on a pig, says I!"

"Get your hands back in the air!" yelled one of the Centurions, waving his gun back and forth in front of the brawling pirates. "You do it or I'm gonna give you good reason to make noise!"

Jim took a few strides forward, raising his own weapon as he took in the fight. Elizabeth followed quickly behind, gripping the dagger tightly as she approached. "Look 'oos talkin'!" she heard Ragetti pipe up. "Yer face could scare off the Kraken!" Flaherty roared and leapt over top of Pintel, grabbing Ragetti by the shoulders and dragging him to the ground.

Soon all of the pirates were rolling around in the muck, throwing punches and screaming curses at one another. The Centurions were standing around them in a circle, caught up in the fisticuffs while they laughed and hollered insults at the men writhing at their feet. Elizabeth heard Jim chuckle to himself a bare second before she threw her arm around his neck and laid the dagger across his throat. "Glad you're enjoying the show," she hissed into his ear, "seeing as it was put on for your benefit and all."

"Beth!" Jim gasped, shaky relief in his voice as he attempted to turn and face her, "I'm so glad you're okay! Beckett was furious, I was sure…"

She jerked her arm tighter and pressed the blade hard against his skin, drawing a moan and a few drops of blood. His muscles went rigid and he started to lift his hands upwards. "No! As you were, Deputy Marshall. I'd hate to spoil the surprise for your new friends. Interesting company you've chosen to keep, I must say. And to think back on those disparaging remarks you made about the Blackhearts. Tsk tsk."

"Please," he said, using his most official tone, "if you'll just give me a minute to explain…"

Her anger flared white hot at his words and she grabbed him by his hair, tilting his head back and exposing his neck even further. "There is NO TIME! Hector is under attack right now, thanks to you, and I need the men. Besides, there is nothing you can say that will make what you did seem okay."

"You can't help him now," he asserted peevishly, bracing his feet to keep from being pulled down. "If you'd just given Beckett what he wanted, this would be over and we could…"

"Lift the barrel of your gun. DO IT!" she snapped. Norrington was startled into complying and as the sight came up, she said, "Aim nice and high, won't you? I want to be sure that it's only the Centurions who are hit." She grabbed his hand, the one on the trigger, and tightened her fingers over top of his.

The Uzi started spitting out rounds, the recoil painfully jerking her fingers and arm as she swung it in an erratic semi-circle. The enemy bikers were mowed down before they'd even realized that someone was firing on them, geysers of blood exploding from their backs and their bodies jolting with the force of the slugs ploughing through leather and flesh.

She didn't release the trigger until the last Centurian had toppled over and the threat had been assuredly eliminated. As the sound of the shots faded in the glen, Pintel jumped off the ground and pumped his fist into the air. "Yes, missy! That's the way! Blimy, ye'd think ye were born to it! Ha!" Pinned beneath a dead Centurion, Ragetti was making desperate noises and kicking his legs in the air. Finally, Pintel turned back to drag the body off of his skinny cohort before poor man could be squashed entirely.

Ansill stood and walked towards her, grinning and wiping at his muddy clothes as he came. "Wouldn't have thought ye capable of it, Miss 'Lizabeth…"

Neither would she, truth be told. But while she was shocked at the detached way in which she'd ended half a dozen lives, she couldn't bring herself to regret it. What she was fighting for...it simply meant too much. She'd not waste such emotion on scum-for-hire.

Elizabeth yanked at the belt that held the Uzi on Jim's shoulder and tugged the gun out of his grasp. He didn't resist – in fact, he was staring at her with slack-jawed disbelief, as though he'd never seen her before and further more, didn't know what to think of her actions. "The captain is in trouble!" she shouted, making sure all of the Blackhearts heard. "They're under siege back at the shack and you've all the weaponry here. Take everything you can carry and get back to them now! MOVE!"

All vestiges of humour faded from the faces of the Blackheart crew and they ran for the boats, yanking the tarps open and retrieving whatever they could hold from the cache – guns, clips, grenades and steel. In a matter of moments they'd fled wordlessly from the glade, leaving Elizabeth alone with her captive.

She slid one arm up through the Uzi's strap until the gun rested heavily against her back. Stepping away from Jim, she pointed the knife straight at him as she made her way back to her boots. "If we are too late…if Hector dies…" she growled, her eyes hot and her chest heaving in anticipation of the battle ahead, "you shall suffer the same fate by my hand. There will be nowhere you can hide, James Norrington, that I won't find you. If he dies…"

Her throat constricted in panic at the thought and she opted to stop talking altogether. Her point had been made – Jim's devastated expression told her as much. Tying her boots while holding a knife in achy hands proved a challenge, but she couldn't risk putting it down and being overpowered before she could get back to Hector and Jack. Jim walked away a few steps as she tugged at her laces, and she eyed him suspiciously as he sank to the ground, sitting with his arms on his knees and hanging his head. As she finished with her boots and turned to go, she heard him murmur rather incoherently.

"Did you say something?" Elizabeth said archly, throwing one last hateful look over her shoulder as she started back in the direction of the tunnel.

"I said," Jim replied a bit louder, not daring to meet her eyes, "let me come with you."

The ludicrous nature of the statement was enough to stop her in her tracks and she let out a single, bitter laugh. "What?! Are you _insane_? After what you've done to me, you believe that I would trust you now? If I had any sense at all, I'd slit your throat and leave you to bleed out into the dirt!"

She turned her back on him and started to run. Now wasn't the time for games – she had to get back, had to do her part to thwart Beckett and save her love. The sound of branches snapping behind her told her that Norrington hadn't paid her any heed and had chosen to follow regardless. When he caught up to her and reached out to grab her elbow, she whirled and slashed out with the blade, opening a nasty looking cut on his forearm.

Jim stumbled sideways, drawing his arm close to his abdomen and closing a hand over top of the deep, red wound to staunch the bleeding. Wincing and clenching his teeth against the pain, he fell to his knees and gave her a beseeching look. "Christ, Beth…is this what it's come down to? I've known you all your life…_loved_ you for most of that time. How the hell did this happen to us?"

"There never was an 'us,' she retorted. A drop of blood fell from the knife and splattered against the toe of her boot. "That's always been our problem…it wasn't meant to be, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit that. And you crossed the line, Jim, when you threw in your lot with Beckett, knowing full well that to do so would mean hurting me…hurting someone I love."

He closed his eyes and sighed miserably. "You're right. I can't defend myself…there are no excuses. I can't change the choices I made – but if you give me a chance, maybe I can redeem myself in some way."

Elizabeth lifted her chin and sneered menacingly. "And why should I believe you? Why should I give you a chance when through your actions, you've almost certainly left us with none?" Here was a familiar situation – Norrington looking for a way back to the right side. Granted, he had more than fulfilled that pledge before…

"Because," he said remorsefully, his blue eyes glistening. "I can't go on living knowing that you despise me. Yes, I was blinded by my desire for something to which I had no claim. I understand – and if what you've found with this other man is what will make you happy, then I can accept that. Please…Beth, please, let me make it right."

She looked back towards where she knew Hector and Jack were fighting for their lives, her jaw tensing in renewed fear and uncertainty dogging her thoughts. "You may not be able to…it may be too late."

"At least let me try – I swear on your father's grave, I won't let you down again." He staggered to his feet, leaning against the prickly casuarina beside where he'd fallen. Rivulets of red ran from between his fingers where he clenched his injured arm, but he stood up straight and steady.

"Fine," she spat, turning to glare at him. "You walk ahead of me and I'll tell you where to go. And you'd better pray that your treachery hasn't already cost me the only one who has ever truly mattered to me."


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

They might have been lacking proper weapons, Hector reflected as he shoved another lifeless Centurion out the door, but there were many ways to kill a man if one was desperate enough. A shard from a broken bottle worked nicely as a knife when one end was wrapped in strips of cloth...lengths of rusty wire made excellent garrottes...chair legs could easily substitute as clubs and a plank with a nail in the end, well...a single carefully aimed blow to the temple would instantly dispatch a foe. It was fighting in its truest form – face to face, eye to eye. Personal and deadly, it was the only honourable way to do away with one's enemies.

He'd reached the point, however, where he'd have happily given up all vestiges of honour in exchange for a single pistol and the ammunition to go with it. The Centurions were relentless, wave after wave of them breaking against the little hut...gunfire for a time, then loud, clumsy rushes by those with more brawn than brains. True enough it was that he and Jack had been able to hold them off when the lumbering idiots made it as far as the door or windows, and sent them back down the ladder either dead or dying. But while the two pirates might be close to immortal, they weren't inexhaustible, and the unremitting attacks were slowly but surely draining their reserves of strength. It had reached the stage where they were grateful when the Centurions began shooting once more, for it meant a chance to crouch down and catch their breath.

For Jack, it was worse – his wounds were still healing and every blow he received was taking its toll. At least he was fighting like the man he'd always claimed to be...and if Hector had been in a charitable mood, he'd have conceded that while Sparrow might run from a clash whenever possible, he was dangerous and deadly as a Bengal tiger when cornered.

Erratically at first and then in loud bursts, the Centurions began to pepper the exterior of the shack with bullets again, and Hector dodged behind the haphazard barricade that he and Jack had assembled out of bits of furniture, crates and chests they'd kicked down the stairs. Sparrow joined him shortly thereafter, the dark bags beneath the younger man's eyes and the perspiration dotting his brow clear signs of his weariness and pain.

They rested their backs against the barrier, each gasping for air and trying to recover enough to face the next onslaught. Conversation, had it even been possible over the racket, would have been pointless. There was no strategy they could discuss as would save them from their doom. As reluctant as he was to do so, Hector had to admit that it was merely a matter of time and circumstance before they fell and their cause was lost. But they'd not go down easily, and Calypso could surely ask nothing more from them than to sacrifice themselves in her name.

Hector's heart twisted hard, knowing the despair and grief his death would bring to Elizabeth. She'd blame herself, of course, and hate him for having sent her away to safety…would hate herself, too, for not taking the time for one final goodbye.

If what Jack said of the power of the mirror was true, though, and Beckett was able to go back and skew events to his liking, then it might be that what Hector had shared with her would be lost as the sands of time shifted and he met his end at the hands of the East India Trading Company. He wasn't sure which was worse...that Elizabeth would mourn his passing or that their love would never have bloomed at all.

Although not generally a man given over to tokens of sentimentality, Hector now wished he'd had the occasion to acquire a photograph of his beautiful girl, one that he could hold and gaze upon to buoy his spirits in the final moments before the crushing grey mists rushed in to take him again. He let his lids close for a heartbeat or two and tried to call to mind the scent of Elizabeth's skin, the shimmering colour of her hair, the taste of her lips. Instead, the smell of blood and cordite nearly smothered him, the odour hot, sickly and cloying, and it spoiled any hope of a last, lovely daydream.

He felt something nudge his arm. Cracking an eye open, he saw Jack wiping at his mouth and holding forth a rather foggy bottle of rum. Giving the other man a wry smile in exchange, Hector took the rum and tipped it back in a silent toast to his life...his death...his love. The liquor was disgusting but it burned its way down his throat nevertheless, a familiar warmth spreading through his gut with each swallow. He grimaced against the hideous aftertaste and passed the bottle back to Sparrow, who in turn gave it a quick wipe with his sleeve before lifting it to his own lips again. After draining the remainder of the dark liquid and licking at the last few drops before they fell from the rim, Jack tossed the bottle across the room and the both of them watched as it smashed to bits against a post.

"Thought ye'd lost yer taste fer rum!" Hector hollered over the din.

Jack grinned and yelled back at him. "Seems we find ourselves short of fixings for a last supper. T'was the best I could do!"

Hector chuckled and reclined against the crate behind him. Funny old world, as Jack had once remarked. Who would have predicted that they'd end up one another's best company...of course, there were damned few others to choose from, but the fact remained. They'd hated one another so long that he wondered if either would know what to do _without_ the rivalry.

He was back to enduring the ceaseless gunfire as it gradually occurred to him that the bullets were no longer hitting the front of the house...or any part of the place, for that matter. Hector tilted his head, listening carefully and saw that Jack had noticed the change as well. Signalling the other man to follow, Hector crept back around the edge of the barricade, wary of a potential trap – might be that the bikers had redirected their aim so as to get a larger party of Centurions closer to the door without a fight.

After minutes slipped away and no one attempted to kick in the door or fire a shotgun blast through what little was left of the front window, they crawled their way over to take a chary look out of one of the shattered panes. Below them and across the brook Hector could see the Centurions firing, but the direction of their assault had changed – and better yet, someone was firing back.

A booming explosion marked the introduction of a grenade into the mix, and the volume of the volley fell for a time, allowing the sound of a man screaming in rage-filled pain to drift up towards them.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Guess your Elizabeth was right after all, eh? Best prepare yourself, Barbossa - you'll never hear the end of it."

Hector raised his chin proudly and smirked at Jack. "And every word she so utters will seem sweet as the peal of a silver bell, lad. Our hope is restored."

"I'll dare to hope when I can put my back to this wretched, stinking bog and do so knowin' that Beckett won't be around to plant another bullet between my shoulder blades," Sparrow groused, squinting through the dirty glass at the war being waged beneath them.

The sudden discharge of a machine gun startled them, the heavy crackle of its rounds prolonged and loud. The burst seemed to have caught the attention of the combatants in the marshes, for an eerie silence followed until a voice boomed out from almost directly beneath Tia Dalma's hovel.

"All of you! Drop your fucking guns or I'll take your heads off with the next sweep!"

Jack's eyes grew large in recognition. "Bloody hell…it's Norrington. Thought for sure we'd seen the last of that one."

Hector clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles cracked. "Ye will have once I get me hands on him," he sputtered furiously. Unmindful of the risk of getting caught in one of the Centurion gunsights, he stood and stormed towards the door. He'd have been out on the porch and on his way down the ladder if Jack hadn't kicked out a leg to trip him up just as he passed, bringing him down with an undignified and painful thud against the filthy floor.

Jack's ebony eyes flared with frustration even as he brought his hands up in front of his face, ready to stave off Hector's retaliation. "What, did you leave your damned brains back on the ship? He'll have you laid out before you get to the last rung, you moron! Won't be enough of you left to put back together...and where in blazes will that leave me, eh?!"

Hector saw red and grabbed Jack roughly by the neck, drawing back his fist to deliver the first in a series of lessons in respect when they heard Norrington let loose with another barrage. "Weren't you listening?! EVERYONE! Centurions, too! Drop…the…GUNS!"

Shoving Jack away and scrambling to his feet, Hector peered out of the window to see both of the factions looking around in confusion, but complying reluctantly with the order. Movement on the little jetty below caught his eye and he saw the top of Norrington's head as the man moved out from beneath the porch. Hector's blood went cold as he realized that the marshal wasn't alone; his arm was draped around Elizabeth's neck and he dragged her along as he made his way to the end of the rickety boardwalk.

"Steady…" muttered Jack, cringing only slightly at the look Hector gave him in response. "Unrequited though it might have been, he loved her once himself. There's more going on than we know."

"Beckett!" hollered Norrington, carefully keeping the bedraggled and seething men across the brook in line with a steady hand on his weapon. "We've been had!"

"I think it more likely," echoed Cutler Beckett's imperious retort, "that _you've_ been had, Deputy Marshal. Once again, you allow your heart – or maybe an organ a bit further down – to blind you to the stupidity of your actions." Beckett came striding out of the trees and into the open as though his very arrogance provided a shield impervious to bullets. "Fortunately, some of us can see past Miss Swann's rather transitory charms."

"Your precious antique mirror isn't here," Norrington answered, mimicking the same snotty tone.

The proud look on Beckett's face faltered and he practically ran to the edge of the water, his teeth bared and his composure strained. "Of course it's here. Or do you think these cretins are fighting with such enthusiasm because they're trying to protect their property values?"

"I _think_," crowed back the fallen agent, "that I caught Elizabeth sneaking across country on her way back to the dock so she could sail off and retrieve the mirror from its actual hiding place. And these few men were left to keep up appearances so you'd stay here and occupied while they made off with the prize."

"Jim, you bastard!" Elizabeth screamed, squirming and clawing at him as though trying to free herself. "How can you do this?"

Despite knowing that what was happening was only a ruse, it took all of Hector's self-restraint not to storm the dock and free her from Norrington's grasp, especially when the man laughed disdainfully and Elizabeth burst into heart-rending sobs. Watching the drama unfold was nearly more than he could stand, but he had to let her gambit play itself out.

"And leave her lover to his fate?" Beckett sneered, his eyes narrowing sceptically as he glared up at the shanty. "Not likely."

Norrington shrugged. "Believe what you like. But doesn't it make you wonder that there are only half a dozen men here defending this supposedly priceless object while most of the others remain at the pier? Besides," he added snidely, "I don't see your men doling out much 'fate' at all. The Blackhearts still hold their position in the hut and you...well, all you have is a steaming pile of dead Centurions."

Beckett's mouth gaped open for a second or two before he snapped it shut again and puffed out his chest. He raised the pistol he'd held in his hand all along and pointed it at Norrington. "And where, pray tell, are the gentlemen that Mr. Villanueva placed in your charge? It was your job to ensure that Barbossa's people were...dealt with…instead of here, joining in our private party. One wonders how that might have all gone awry under your command. A less trusting man may even believe that you're playing both sides against the middle."

"As I said…I spotted Miss Swann making a break for it and chose to follow. I believed that six well-armed bikers would be able to keep a handful of pathetic, tired and defenceless miscreants under control. Clearly, I overestimated their intelligence and ability and for that, I am eternally sorry." Norrington sounded anything but apologetic.

Villanueva huffed angrily, his beard quivering as he shook his finger at Norrington. "Son of a whore! You shut your mouth, or I'll rip off your head and shit down your throat!"

"Assuming you, unlike your men, could find your ass with both hands…" laughed Norrington.

There was a collective, incredulous gasp from members of both crews and all eyes turned to the leader of the Centurions to see how he would respond to the insult. Infuriated past the point of answering coherently, Villanueva's eyes bulged out and he fumbled to retrieve a handgun from beneath his leather jacket. Before he could draw a bead on Norrington, though, Beckett calmly turned and shot him between the eyes. Stunned disbelief flashed across the biker captain's face before he fell over backwards onto the lush vegetation to stare sightlessly up at the bright blue Florida sky.

The gesture wasn't heroic, Hector understood; Beckett had no interest in saving Norrington's life. He simply couldn't risk having Elizabeth accidentally shot before he could find out whether or not Norrington's story was true. But just as when he'd shot Jack, the murder had been cold and utterly without emotion...and all the more chilling for that.

Villanueva's men gawked in astonished silence at Beckett, seemingly unsure how to react to the loss of their leader. "You have two choices," intoned Beckett, glancing dispassionately around him at the remaining members of the Centurion Motorcycle Club. "Either you can discharge the duties agreed to by your late captain – in which case you'll reap his share of the reward, not to mention those of your many dead comrades – or I can order Deputy Marshal Norrington to open fire. If you choose the second option, you may consider our contract…terminated."

"Was about time for a change anyway," growled one of the biker lieutenants, and his remaining brothers nodded and murmured their swift assent.

"Excellent perspective," stated Beckett smugly, turning his attention back to Norrington. "I must say, you surprise me with your change in attitude. Despite your rather egregious transgressions on my behalf, I had you pegged as something of a 'stand up' fellow in the end."

"I have come to understand," said Norrington, his voice cold and pitiless, "that being a respectable human being has never brought me anything but grief. If I have to lie and break a few rules to get what I want, then so be it. There is no profit in decency."

"Indeed," Beckett said slowly, seeming to ponder the marshal's change of heart for a second or two. "And what about you, Miss Swann? Are you going to finally give me what is mine or shall I burn your friends alive in their charming little tree house while you watch?"

Elizabeth didn't have to pretend to be upset at Beckett's propensity for brutality; Hector could see her face harden in hatred for a moment before she reined in her emotions. "You're going to kill us whether you get your hands on the mirror or not. Find it yourself, you dickless little troll. You won't be getting any help from me."

Beckett's façade of control shattered and he screamed at her from across the water. "There's dying, you bitch, and then there is _dying_! When I get my hands on you, you'll beg for the chance to tell me where it is, just for my promise to end the torment…"

Elizabeth snorted scornfully. "Oh, I'm simply aquiver in terror at the very thought! Aren't you brave from the other side of the creek? Have you found a pair since our last encounter? Because as far back as I can remember, you've only ever behaved like every other pompous, prissy English lord…you sit back and pretend at civility while you get _real_ men to do your bidding."

"You are DONE!" Beckett shrieked, his face turning a deep red as his blood pressure rose.

"Is she trying to give him a stroke, do you think?" murmured Jack, barely suppressing a laugh.

"Nay," Hector said, his jaw tensing painfully. Elizabeth was taking too great a risk for his liking. "She's layin' the bait fer a trap."

They watched flabbergasted as Beckett stepped into the shallow, murky water, his gun carefully trained on Norrington and Elizabeth as he crossed the narrow stream towards the tiny dock. While he waded across, the Centurions tried to covertly retrieve their weapons, thinking everyone too distracted to notice. Norrington cleared his throat loudly, though, and once he shook his head and waved the Uzi in their direction, they abandoned the attempt and stood straight again. The menacing glares continued, however, and it was clear that Beckett's belief that he held their loyalty was, at best, premature.

Dragging himself from the waist-deep water up onto the broken-down jetty with some considerable effort, Beckett finally lurched to a stop in front of Norrington and Elizabeth. His chest was heaving and his eyes were wide as he stood before them, his sodden hair slick against his head and brackish water dripping from his clothes. The walk through the brook had done nothing to cool his temper, though, and he shoved Norrington out of the way as he reached past him and seized Elizabeth by the hair.

Her cry of alarm tore at Hector's heart and he couldn't help but charge out the door and down the ladder, Jack's last minute grab to stop him notwithstanding. He only descended a few rungs before he jumped to the dock, deftly avoiding the heap of biker corpses sprawled over the decrepit boards. He had time to take but a single stride forwards when Beckett backhanded Elizabeth across the face with his gun, the sound of blow sharp and startling. Her head snapped to the side and she fell to her knees at her assailant's feet, letting out a single angry sob as she brought her hand up to tenderly touch her jaw.

Rage darkened Hector's vision and he'd have torn Beckett to pieces on the spot, gun or not, but for Norrington. "No!" barked the marshal as he stepped into Hector's path, a pleading expression on his face as he tried to convey more to Barbossa than he obviously felt he could say. "Stay back!"

Hector might have ignored the entreaty but for Elizabeth's face when she raised her head to gaze up at him. Her expression wasn't one of fear; despite the trickle of blood that flowed from her swollen mouth and the furious tears that rimmed her eyes, she looked triumphant.

"Get up!" screeched Beckett, his voice shrill as he yanked on her hair. Elizabeth cried out again, grabbing Beckett's wrist with one hand to relieve some of the painful pressure on her scalp as he attempted to drag her to her feet again. Beckett's head whipped around and his maniacal glare settled on Hector as he began to raise his gun. "How does it feel to know that you're helpless to stop me, pirate? That anything you have can be taken away at my whim?! Are you going to watch me beat the life out of her or are you going to tell me where MY FUCKING MIRROR IS?!"

Hector roared and lunged for him, but Norrington stepped into his path and held him back. "For Christ's sake!" screamed Norrington, struggling to block Hector's advance while continuing to hold the gun on the Centurions, "Do something already!"

It suddenly dawned on Hector that Norrington was not addressing either him or Beckett, but Elizabeth. The glint of a blade in the late afternoon sun caught his eye…his dagger, swung in a wide arc from where Elizabeth had hidden it in her boot. With a sickening thunk, it was imbedded in Beckett's chest, Elizabeth's thin, dainty fingers wrapped firmly around its thick black hilt.

Beckett's eyes bugged out and his breath gurgled as his lungs filled with blood. Elizabeth grabbed him by back of his neck and pulled him close, slowly twisting the knife as she did so and drawing a squealing gasp from his gaping maw. "You are a weak and worthless coward," she hissed, her face only inches away from her attacker's. "Nothing more than vermin...an insect...one that I felt I had to squash personally. Before you die, though, know this…you were right, the mirror was here all along. You allowed a callow girl to best you, Beckett."

He coughed as though trying to reply, but all that came from his shivering lips was a surge of bloody bubbles, dribbling down his chin and painting the front of his shirt a brilliant crimson. Pushing hard with both hands on the dagger's hilt, Elizabeth forced Beckett to the end of the dock. He staggered and flailed his arms backwards, the gun falling from his hand and into the bog as his eyes rolled back in pain and a steady, burbling groan came from deep in his throat.

"You lose, you slimy prick," she muttered harshly before yanking the dagger from his heart. He doubled over, clutching at his chest as though trying to stem the red tide that now gushed out in a pulsing torrent. Beckett wavered but before he could fall to his knees, Elizabeth lifted her foot and pushed him backwards into the muddy brook. Cutler Beckett was dead before he hit the water, his arms and legs outstretched as though he was simply enjoying one last cool dip on a hot summer day.

Elizabeth was still glowering down at the body when Hector approached her carefully from behind. "It's over," he said quietly, reaching to take her hand and pull her away from the edge. "Come away with me, 'Lizabeth. Let me see to yer wounds."

She didn't move, though...didn't even turn. "I was right," she whispered, so softly that he almost didn't realize she'd spoken. "Surely you can see that now?"

"Right…about what?" he asked, puzzled. "I don't understand..."

"Norrington, you idiot, you've let down your guard!" shouted a panicky Sparrow from his perch on the veranda. "They're going for their guns!"

Caught up in the horrific drama, the three of them had almost forgotten the men standing on the opposite bank. Both Blackhearts and Centurions scrambled in the grass and bushes for their weapons, distracted from their goal only when a vicious fistfight would break out. The disgraced marshal screamed and even fired the Uzi over the bikers' heads, but his threats went either unheard or unheeded. It didn't take long for bullets to start flying again...and those standing beneath the house were left completely vulnerable.

Hector seized Elizabeth by the shoulders and hustled her back towards the hut, determined to find shelter for her in the midst of the chaos. Despite the return of his men, his arsenal remained frustratingly out of reach. Norrington, the lone armed man on their side, charged past the couple, trying to take out whatever enemy bikers he could catch in his sights without blowing away Barbossa's men in the process.

The two of them ran hard as bits of the dock disintegrated at their feet, a combination of artillery and age finally catching up. Elizabeth stumbled as she tried to scramble over the bodies of the Centurions sprawled on the dock and Hector all but threw her onto the ladder so she could climb to safety. Bullets shredded the tree trunk beside them and he covered her body with his, feeling one of the shots graze the side of his calf. Biting down against the pain, he held his position until he was certain it was safe to move again and he began to pull himself higher. Problem was, Elizabeth no longer seemed inclined to do so.

"Only a few feet more, girl...we're almost there!" he grunted, wrapping an arm around her waist and trying to persuade her to scale the remaining distance as quickly as possible. She slumped against him, though, and would have fallen had he not been holding her.

It was then that he felt it – hot, wet and spreading fast against his arm. His breath caught in his throat and a flash of fear froze him in mid-ascent. He'd not been able to protect her...whether through accident or an act of expert marksmanship, she'd been shot. And now her lifeblood was coating his hands and making her body too slick to hold, impossible to move...

"Sparrow! She's hit...God help me, 'Lizabeth's been hit!" he bellowed desperately, trying to prop her up on the ladder, trying to lift her higher so he could get her to the top. He needed to tend to the injury...needed to make sure she was going to be okay. She had to be okay; he couldn't abide any other thought.

Jack wasted neither breath nor time with a reply; he skidded over to the opening and reached down, grabbing handfuls of Elizabeth's blouse and pulling her up. There was blood everywhere, but no way of knowing which was hers and which was Beckett's...they would need a closer look before they could staunch the flow, every minute counted...

By the time Hector clambered up onto the veranda, Jack had already carried Elizabeth into the house. He was crouched beside her on the floor of the bedchamber, tearing at her top and desperately searching for the source of the bleeding. Hector dropped to his knees at her side, his hands trembling as he helped check her over.

He spotted it first...the brightest of the blood welling from beneath her arm and when he lifted the limb, he could see the edges of the tiny, round hole that marked the entry wound. The bullet had gone in above her ribs but so far as he could tell, had not exited her body. Elizabeth was fighting to stay conscious and her breathing was somewhat laboured, each inhalation causing new tears to spill from her frightened eyes. She reached out for him, weakly clasping his wrist, but he had no time for reassurances – he had to stop the bleeding.

The shots were no doubt still ringing out, but Hector could hear nothing over his own heart, its thunderous beat fuelled by profound terror. Carefully he rolled the girl onto her side before bunching up her discarded shirt in his hand and pressing it against the hole. The injury was deceptively small, but he didn't doubt that the projectile had wreaked all sorts of internal damage. He only needed to get her stabilized long enough to get her some help and then it would all be fine. It likely looked worse than it really was, he tried to convince himself. She'd be all right.

Damn it, though, if she didn't seem unbearably fragile, lying half-naked and trembling upon the floorboards. Jack walked over to the where the blasted mirror was propped against the wall and pulled away the threadbare sheet covering its surface, wordlessly handing it to Hector so he could cover Elizabeth and restore to her some small dignity. Thin as it was, though, it seemed to do little to alleviate the chills wracking her slender form, a clear signal of excessive blood loss. Hector sat down beside her, pulling her halfway into his lap so he could wrap his arms around her and warm her with his own body heat. The move caused a hitch in her breathing but she didn't protest when he tucked her into his embrace, resting her head against his thigh. He readjusted the compress, making sure he was putting enough pressure on the wound as she gingerly settled against him.

"Barbossa," Jack murmured, getting down on one knee in front of them. "You have to talk to her. Say what needs be said."

Hector glanced up and was at once shaken by the sombre knowledge he saw on Jack's face. The pity and sadness in the younger man's expression made him inexplicably angry. "And ye need to learn to keep yer trap shut, Sparrow. Talk like that and ye'll scare her to death. She's not hurt so bad as all that."

Jack dropped his head. "You're right, of course. Apologies for speaking out of turn."

"If yer inclined to help," Hector said peevishly, "perhaps ye can find one as can get word to me men back at the docks – tell 'em to summon a Medivac. She'll be needin' a surgeon and sooner than later. Ain't a cellphone that will work close to the shack, but the radios on board our ships will do just as well."

Jack sighed heavily and slowly got to his feet. "I'll do what I can." He made his way towards the door, giving them one last misery-filled look over his shoulder before he ducked out and left them alone.

"Hector," Elizbeth gasped faintly, her hand reaching up for him. He took it and held it against his face, and was alarmed to find her skin was clammy and cold. "I was right...not to say goodbye..."

"I'm here, my love. We'll get ye taken care of; don't ye fret." He turned his face to kiss her palm, and brushed his lips across her fingertips. "I know yer hurtin but it won't be fer long. The docs will fix ye up, right as rain."

The thud of weighty footsteps could be heard on the ladder, more than one set to judge from the racket. Hector hunched himself protectively over Elizabeth, but it was only Pintel and Flaherty who burst through the door, chattering excitedly. "Cap'n!" cried Pintel, "The Centurions are done for, sir. Weren't much of a contest at all, in the end..."

The two men stopped short of entering the tiny room and their foolish grins faded the instant they took in the scene. "Miss 'Lizabeth, is she..." Flaherty began hesitantly, wringing his hands.

"Aw, poppet..."chimed in Pintel, putting a hand over his heart. "No..."

"If either of ye say another word, I swear I'll rip out yer gizzards with one hand an' feed 'em back to ye with the other," Hector growled, his fury making it hard to get the words out. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, glaring back and forth between the two men.

"Aye,sir...sorry, sir..." they muttered, exchanging looks heavy with meaning as they stepped into the bed chamber and stood with their backs against the wall. Pintel bit at his fingernail anxiously and Flaherty crossed his arms over his chest, pointedly staring anywhere but at what was happening before him.

The cloth that Hector held against the wound was quickly growing wetter, darker, tackier...the bleeding refused to slow and he could only hold on and hope that a physician could be dispatched quickly. The colour was draining from Elizabeth's face and her lips were a pinkish shade of white, making the lacerations and bruises she'd received at Beckett's hand stand out harshly.

He hadn't even realized that Sparrow had returned until he heard the man speak. "Norrington had a broad band radio concealed in the trees. He's called for help and is watching the skies, ready to signal our location to them."

"Da doctah cannot help her, Barbossah," came Calypso's softly rhythmic voice from beside the mirror. "You know dat."

Hector's fists tightened and his pulse throbbed in his temples as his anger seethed. Had Elizabeth not been lying across his lap, he'd have jumped to his feet and throttled the goddess, consequences be damned. "That be a lie and I'll thank ye to keep it to yerself," he said through his teeth, trying to keep quiet for Elizabeth's sake. "Such talk ain't gonna help anythin'..."

Calypso's skirts rustled against the floor and she came to rest on her knees before him. When he looked up, she'd changed...no more ethereal gown, no more perfect skin. She was Tia Dalma again, raggedy dress and tattooed face, her dreadlocks dull and frizzy. Only the faint glow in her eyes gave a clue as to her true nature, and in those dark depths he saw something he'd never seen in all the years of serving her... compassion and concern.

"Dis her fate," the goddess said gently and quietly. "Her gonna die...dat ye cannot change."

Hector shot out a hand and grabbed Calypso by the wrist, squeezing hard in desperation. "Mebbe I can't – but if ye so wish, _ye_ can help her. Save her now. Whate'er bond ye want from me...whate'er promise I can render, whate'er service I can give to ye, 'tis yers fer the askin'. Just...please..." He knew he had nothing left to offer but it didn't stop him from trying to make a bargain. There was no way that he could lose Elizabeth...not after so long, not after all they'd fought for...

Slowly Calypso shook her head. "Dis body be broken...it cannot hold her spirit and I not have da magic anymore to alter dat. But you, Hectah..." she said, the glint sparking in her eyes and a slight smile forming on her dark lips, "you can go back. You can see her live again...but in da past, when da both of you was mortal."

"Go back..." he said, his attention drawn to the mirror...the cursed mirror that had robbed him and Elizabeth of their chance for happiness. His eyes narrowed as he turned back to look at the witch. "She weren't mine in the past," he spat resentfully. "She belonged to Turner – never once did she look at me then with anythin' more than loathin' or disgust. It was _this_ Elizabeth who loved me...not that one. Never that one."

"She did not know den dat she would love you in da future," she said impatiently, tugging her wrist from his grasp. "Da body, it be a container, is all...no diff'rent dan dose bottles dat used to hang above us. But da soul...dere be only one for each person. If dey live life as dey should, den once...it is enough. If dey lose der way...if dem follow da wrong pat'...den the soul, it is sentenced to purgatory on Eart', destined to repeat da same mistakes over and over again."

"And yer sayin' that the way that her life turned out back then...the path that 'Lizabeth chose...it wasn't the right one?" he said sceptically.

"I'm sayin'," explained Calypso, slowly and calmly as if speaking to a child, "dat if she dies now...dies here...den her soul is caught forevah in dis loop. But if you take her back t'roo da portal, her will have a chance to find her way. To change dat destiny."

He looked back down at his beautiful girl...beautiful but dying...and stroked her hair with bloodstained fingers. "If I take her back...will she remember? Will she know that she loved me?" He'd had to give her up once to Will Turner...to have to do it again was beyond what he could stand, not after they'd shared so much.

"I cannot know dat, for da past is clouded and I can no longer see," she replied with a shrug. "But her soul – it knows you, knows her love you. And her made a vow..."

"Ye said that before. What vow do ye mean?"

Calypso smiled slyly, smoothing her hair back off her shoulders. "When first you took her a-ridin', don't you recall? Her pledge her loyalty to you and no udder...she swore dat you were da capt'in of her heart."

His spirits fell, all hope dashed. "She said that in jest...it was a joke to her then and nothin' more."

Calypso huffed and frowned at him, settling her small fists on her waist. "All da same, it was a vow! How often since den has she called you her 'cap'tin', hmm? Every time her say dem words, da bond...it grow strongah. It come from da deepest part of her self, da truest and purest piece of her bein'. Nevah did her give dat vow to an udder man. Nevah."

"But there ain't no guarantee, is there?" he challenged. "Even if some part of her remembers what we had, the Elizabeth of old...she might never know it."

"When did men like us ever believe in guarantees, mate?" Jack said, stepping closer. "What you know for certain is this...if you don't try, if you don't take her back, then she's a goner for sure. Any chance, however small...don't you think it's better than none at all?"

"Before you decide, Hectah," warned the goddess, her visage sombre once more, "dere is a cost must be paid, and not just from you. If you take her back, you give up dat immortal life I gave to you. You will be a mon...but just dat. Mortal again and as frail as any udder humon. And the same it must be for all dose given dat gift so long ago. You...Witty Jack...your crew. All must return wit' her."

"We'd go, Cap'n!" exclaimed Pintel, and Flaherty nodded vigorously in agreement. "We hate it here! We hate it now, I mean...you know, the here and now. Facin' danger, disease, death...that was better than this half-life we got. Ain't a man on yer crew who'd say diff'rent."

He'd known his crew was loyal, despite enduring his abuse and being subjected to his ill-blown temper at times. But the depth of their loyalty...never could he have expected it. He felt ashamed that he'd considered leaving them – they'd not abandon him, even when so doing would have meant living forever. It was humbling and not just a little disconcerting.

Jack sighed and looked heavenward. "Hate to say it, but I grow tired of this eternal drudgery myself. Besides, next time I kill you, Barbossa, I'd like to think it will take." He smiled enigmatically. "We don't belong here, Hector. It's not our time...these are not our people. Going back is no hardship; it's the staying here as will drive a man to madness. Give me a ship and bring me that horizon. I say we go."

"No..." Elizabeth moaned softly, squirming in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open...they were dark and filled with pain, but also with anger. Taking in a shuddering breath, she propped herself unsteadily on her elbow and glared hatefully at the goddess. "You can't do that to him...I won't...allow it. Dozens of lives for mine, just so...I can try to fix the mistakes...of my past. The price is...too steep and you have no right to ask...it of him. Of them."

The goddess looked shocked at Elizabeth's hostility. "But him love you...for love, what sacrifice be too great?"

"NO!" Elizabeth cried again, and then began coughing. Blood oozed from between her lips and she raised a shaky wrist to wipe it away. She fell back against Hector's thigh and stared up at him, her breath rasping as she grabbed his hand fiercely. "If you go back, then...what we had...could be lost. Do you...want to see...me with...Will again? Can you watch...him kiss...me? Would you...be able...to make yourself...marry us...again? I would rather...die now...than...hurt you...like...that. I'd rather you...have only a memory...of what time...we had...than...know that...you'd have to face that."

A tear fell from his cheek and dropped into her hair before he even knew he'd begun to weep. "I would not let ye go so easily, lass...I'd not give ye up to Turner again without a fight. But even if I can't have ye...'Lizabeth, if doin' this can free yer soul... if circumstances mean that ye don't end up lovin' me, then I'll have given ye that at least. T'is no small gift, that kind of peace."

"What he sez is true, missy," sniffled a sobbing Flaherty, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Pintel was trying to remain stoic, but his bottom lip was quivering and his eyes glistened brightly. "Besides, ye said ye love the cap'n...if ye do, then ye gotta let him try and win yer heart a'gin."

"It's only fair!" burst out Pintel before pushing past the others and stomping from the room. Flaherty followed after him, no longer able to watch the heartbreaking tableau.

"You would lose...your immortality..." Elizabeth argued weakly, tears of her own now coursing unchecked and her voice thick with anguish.

"I'd rather face life and death as an ordinary man than live a thousand lifetimes without ye," he whispered, bending to press his lips to her forehead. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck, caressing his hair and crying softly against the hollow of his throat.

"Barbossah...if you are to do dis t'ing, it must be now. Her aura is fadin' and she must still live when you step t'roo da door," cautioned Calypso, rising and stepping back towards the mirror.

"Do what you have to do," Jack prompted. "We will gather the men and follow."

As Hector slid his arms beneath Elizabeth's legs and stood, his heart felt as though it had been shredded in his chest, so intense and all-encompassing was his agony. He wanted to throw back his head and howl like a wounded animal, to protest the injustice of his loss and the fear that squeezed his chest so tightly that he could hardly draw breath.

"I love you, 'Lizabeth Swann...death cannot touch that," he choked out, burying his face in her hair to capture the scent of her, to engrain it in his memory for an eternity in case it was the last chance he'd ever have.

"I...love you...Hector Barbossa...my...captain...always," she sighed, clearly too weak to say much more. Her arms were slipping from around his neck even as her life began to slip away.

Calypso crouched in front of the mirror, chanting as she spread her hands over the thick, carved frame. As she spoke, the tiny figures etched there slowly came to life, moving and flowing into one another as the pace of the goddess's spell increased and the passion of her words grew. The silver surface of the mirror began to ripple outwards from the centre, the waves smooth and slow. The undulations gradually diminished and Hector saw the captain's quarters of the _Black Pearl_ materialize before him.

"You are returnin' to da very night dat her will decide her fate," the goddess murmured, gesturing to the scene on the other side of the looking glass. "Your one chance, Hectah, to change what is to follow for Elizabet' Swann."

"What night is it?" he asked. "If I knew that..."

Calypso laughed, a tinkling sound like chimes in the wind. "Won't be doin' all your work for you, mon. Some t'ings you need to figure out yourself. But always have I said...you a bright one, Barbossah."

He pulled Elizabeth as close as he could and took a deep breath. Before he stepped into the portal, though, he paused and looked back at Calypso.

"Why?" he said, puzzled. "Why are you doing this? What's in it fer ye?"

"Perhaps," she replied with a smile, fussing with one of her braids, "I, too, long for a time when I was more den I am now. Worshipped, feared...I was _Calypso_, de bane and de boon of every sailor as took to da watah. Loved, hated, desired, reviled...I miss dat time and dose men." She grew serious again and moved towards him, resting a tiny hand on his arm. "Well have you served me, Hectah Barbossah. Be da mon I know you to be...go back to your time...find your love. Live da life you deserve."

Without further hesitation, Hector stepped into the rift between worlds. As he moved into the darkness and beyond the shimmering light, he heard Elizabeth whisper faintly, "I will remember...I will..."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Elizabeth gasped and shot straight up in her bed, her heart thumping wildly in her chest and her gown damp with sweat. The visions had been vivid but confusing, a whirl of colour and pain, terror and loss. As she came to focus on her surroundings, though, she knew she'd had a nightmare and nothing more. It wasn't exactly surprising that her soul was troubled and unsettled; she could only hope that the dark dreams that pursued her weren't harbingers of doom...not with the fight that loomed at dawn.

Amber-hued lanterns flickered dimly around her, throwing spectral shadows across the stateroom and making it look as though the carved wooden dragons on the walls were swaying sinuously. She fell back onto the sumptuous silken bedding and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to calm down enough to find sleep once more. Although the quarters she occupied aboard the _Empress_ were certainly beautiful, being ensconced in the same rooms in which Sao Feng had so gruesomely met his end was hardly conducive to relaxation. She'd have requested accommodations elsewhere in Shipwreck Cove, but the crew expected... _demanded_...that their captain stay close to her men. As shaky as her command already was with the Singapore pirates, she really had no choice but to acquiesce to their wishes.

Thinking that she could sleep properly on the eve of a battle was almost laughably naïve in retrospect, and Elizabeth threw back the covers as she abandoned all hope of rest. She retrieved the smooth embroidered robe that had been left for her by the servants and tugged it over her nightclothes, pulling her long hair out from beneath as she wandered aimlessly across her cabin's brightly coloured carpets. Apart from the ragged hole in the wall left behind by one of the _Flying Dutchman's_ twelve-pounders – a hole that members of her crew had tried to discreetly conceal behind an intricately painted Oriental screen – the suite was fit for royalty. She smiled bitterly; it was appropriate, perhaps, given the fact that she'd managed to get herself elected King of the Brethren Court through one of Jack's more baffling schemes.

A basin with cool, clean water had been left for her evening toilette, and she cupped some in her hands, lightly splashing her face so as to clear her thoughts. As restless as her sleep had been, wakefulness brought its own flood of distressing thoughts and feelings.

There had been a time not so very long ago that her goals were clear and her passions straightforward. She had Will Turner, a man whose love she'd believed was as true and steadfast as the sunrise...she had her adoring father, her devoted friends, and someday perhaps a life back in England as a lady of the court.

Her father was dead now, murdered by Cutler Beckett and his lethal companion, Mercer. Not only had she committed the heinous crimes of freeing a pirate and associating with pirates, but she had become one herself, and there was no greater crime against the Crown than engaging in piracy without the title of 'privateer.' And Will...the cooling of his affections, the subsequent change in her own feelings towards him...it seemed to be the worst part of all. She could have persevered in the face of all her other losses but without Will, she felt adrift, without benefit of a heading or even bearings.

She slipped around the beautifully decorated screen and gazed through the breach in the _Empress'_ side at the glittering stack of ships at the centre of the secluded harbour, the hundreds of lamps glowing like blazing jewels in a crown. If she was to be honest with herself, she thought as she looked up, maybe it was just the idea of the life she was supposed to live that she missed the most. Almost four months had passed since there had been anything other than hostility and suspicion between her and Will Turner, and the love that they'd once had for one another seemed just a memory.

And so she needed to find another path...but what did that mean? What prospects remained for the dishonoured daughter of a disgraced colonial governor in the British Empire? None, at least not so long as Cutler Beckett had His Majesty's ear. Turning pirate wouldn't have been her first choice, but it certainly looked more and more as though it would be her only choice – providing, of course, that she survived the next day.

A decanter of dark red wine had arrived earlier, a gift from Captain Teague. It was a gesture of courtesy afforded each of the nine pirate lords, and the steward had let it slip that in deference to her newly-elected position, she had been given the very finest French vintage from Teague's own personal cellar. Perhaps a sip or two would help settle her enough that she could still catch a few precious hours of slumber...or at the very least, put her worries to bed.

Elizabeth approached the table upon which wine had been placed and unstopped the glinting crystal carafe. She was ready to fill a goblet when she reconsidered. There was nothing sadder than drinking alone...and she could hear from the boisterous laughter and music wafting in through the hole in her ship that she was likely the only one facing so solitary an indulgence. Besides, she doubted that there was any wine potent enough to bring her real peace.

Perhaps what she needed more than drink was company, something of which there was certainly no shortage in Shipwreck Cove. What gave her pause was more the quality than the quantity of the companionship available. It wasn't difference in class or status that concerned her – recent circumstances meant that she truly was amongst her peers now. But when one got down to it, Elizabeth Swann was essentially a woman alone amongst men of ravenous appetites and unrestrained desires. Leaving the sanctuary of the _Empress_ to seek out conversation and friendship might place her in a compromising position...and as far as she might have fallen already, she was not anxious to have her maidenhood roughly taken from her before she could willingly give it.

The thought of her chastity dampened her spirits further and on impulse, she decided that she would, in fact, enjoy a glass of wine. Why not sample what delights she did have at hand when others were so far from her grasp? It wasn't fair that she faced dying a virgin when by all rights, Will should have relieved her of that burden months earlier. It was yet another reason to carve Cutler Beckett into little pieces, as if she needed one. Perhaps, though, it was a backwards blessing of sorts – how would she have felt had she given that intimate part of herself to Will, only to have him turn his back on her as he had? She should be glad to not have squandered it upon one so unworthy. Damn him and Beckett both!

Elizabeth tossed back the contents of the crystal goblet, licking at the remnants on the rim and demurely dabbing her lips afterwards. The wine was exquisite, rich and full, and she felt its warmth spread all the way to her toes. Before the warning voices in her head could speak too loudly, she poured herself another glassful and lifted it in the manner of a toast.

"To the Virgin King!" she announced sullenly, swirling the garnet-coloured liquid as she held it up to the lantern light. "Married to the fate of a thousand men and bedded by none!" Her throat tightened as her emotions surged to the surface, but she forced herself to swallow another mouthful of the Saxon burgundy anyway. Angry now, she set the goblet down heavily on the table, and the contents slopped over the side and onto her fingers.

Hissing in frustration, Elizabeth was about to wipe the liquor away with a cloth when she stopped herself and instead brought her hand to her mouth, slowly licking the wine from her skin. The action seemed familiar and the taste on her tongue brought forth something that felt very much like long forgotten memory. She closed her eyes, savouring the dryness of the juice, its hints of fruit and oak teasing her palate. Teague had certainly made a wonderful choice; she had to give him that. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when wine had tasted better...

That wasn't entirely true, though. She did remember the last time...and she remembered in whose company she'd been when last she'd savoured a drink with such rapture. The one man she knew would appreciate the fine wine she had to share...the one man who would truly understand what it meant to be deprived of those small joys that made life worth living. Not that she would expect him to do anything about her current frustration...certainly not. But he was here at Shipwreck Cove, and perhaps he didn't want to spend the evening alone and thinking about what the morning would bring, either. Anything was better than moping about her quarters and wallowing in self-pity until sunrise.

Elizabeth found a bright scarlet sash and tied it tightly around her waist to hold her robe modestly in place. It wasn't exactly proper to be calling on a gentleman in one's nightclothes, but fortunately she no longer felt fettered by the same set of rules that applied to polite society. Before her better judgement could assert itself, she wrapped her hand around the neck of the crystal decanter, grabbed a dagger for protection against any unsavoury characters she might encounter along the way, and hurried up the stairs to the deck.

* * *

In hindsight, Elizabeth had to admit that her plan really hadn't been all that well thought out. Covertly lowering and then rowing her gig over to the _Black Pearl_ single-handedly had been the easy part; the few members of her crew that remained aboard the _Empress_ were too occupied with drunken games of chance to notice their captain sneaking away. Climbing the _Pearl's_ rope ladder in a long gown while carrying a bottle of wine, however, posed quite a challenge. Twice she almost fell into the harbour, once when her dainty gold slippers couldn't keep their grip on the slick rungs and another time when her voluminous robe became tangled in her legs. Fortunately, she'd been able to recover her footing and find her way up to the gunwale without further incident...and more importantly, without dropping the wine.

When she did finally hoist herself aboard, it struck her that she hadn't given a thought as to who all might be in residence on the _Pearl_. She saw Mister Gibbs, but he was curled up on his side, asleep by the mizzen with his flask cuddled against his cheek and a smile of inebriated satisfaction on his broad face. Except for him, the deck appeared to be deserted and she assumed the rest of crew had been granted leave to pursue their vices ashore. But the real question, at least so far as Elizabeth was concerned, was who exactly might be occupying the captain's stateroom.

Captaincy of the _Black Pearl_ had been in constant dispute since they'd retrieved both the ship and Jack from Davy Jones' Locker, with neither Sparrow nor Barbossa willing to budge in their claim of leadership. She carefully tiptoed closer and put her ear close to the heavy oak doors of the cabin, but heard nothing from within. At the very least, the absence of colourful profanity and hurled insults meant one or the other of the _Pearl's_ captains– or perhaps even both – had vacated the premises to seek their pleasures elsewhere. It was possible that Gibbs had been left behind as a lone sentry, albeit a poor one, and she'd have no choice but to return to her own ship with only herself for company after all.

Sneaking around really was beneath her, she decided, and she boldly rapped hard upon one of the doors with her knuckles. There was no immediate response to her summons, so she pulled the door slightly open and poked her head over the threshold. The room was black save for a single flickering candle at the far end, and although she couldn't see a soul, her senses told her that someone waited within. The darkness put her on edge; even with her wits a bit dulled by the wine, the atmosphere felt ominous and threatening.

A prudent individual would likely have turned and left, but Elizabeth would have felt like a coward doing so. Besides, she thought, what if the individual wasn't a member of the crew, but instead some unknown rogue intent on doing harm to either Jack or Barbossa? As far as Beckett's reach seemed to extend, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that he had agents planted within the confines of the fortress, ready to scuttle the Brethren's plans by eliminating the pirate lords before the fight even began. Well, it most definitely wasn't going to happen while she had anything to say – or do – about it.

She carefully placed the wine on the deck just outside the doorway, and slid her dagger from its place in her sash. Almost unconsciously, she tested the blade for sharpness with the pad of her thumb as she crept forward step by step, squinting as she scanned the inhospitable room for some movement that might indicate the presence of another person. Besides the slow and constant creak of the _Pearl_ as it shifted in the water, there was no sound that she could discern over the rapid beat of her own heart.

The door slammed shut behind with a boom and she instinctively whirled to find the latch. As her fingers closed on the door's brass handle, a strong hand seized her wrist and yanked hard, twisting her arm behind her and lifting until she cried out from the excruciating pain. There was a starburst behind her eyes as her head was knocked against the wall, a powerful arm pushing against the back of her neck and holding her in place while she was relieved of her dagger. She heard it sliding across the hardwood floor, coming to rest far out of her reach and essentially eliminating any chance she had to fight back.

Her assailant twisted her other arm behind her as well, gripping her wrists so tightly that her fingers quickly went numb. She was trapped between the wall and her attacker's solid body, and he was pressing against her hard enough that the very air was being squeezed from her lungs. "Don't recall invitin' a woman to me quarters," he hissed into her ear, his breath hot and smelling of faintly of apple. "Be ye assassin or whore, I haven't the patience to deal with ye tonight."

Elizabeth gasped, trying to draw enough breath to answer. "Well, then I would say it's a very good thing that I'm neither," she managed to wheeze, wriggling beneath him as she tried to break free. "If you'd be so kind, Captain Barbossa...release me at once."

He retreated from her so suddenly that it almost seemed as though he'd been scalded by her words. As she turned, she could hear his harsh breathing as he backed away into the shadows. Tempted as she was to follow and castigate him for his brutality, she stayed where she was and rubbed gingerly at her aching wrist bones. Something felt wrong - he seemed almost frightened by her presence. That in turn alarmed Elizabeth, for never once had she known the indomitable Hector Barbossa to show fear.

"I'm sorry for startling you," she said, speaking to the darkness into which he had disappeared. Slowly her eyes began to adjust to the lack of light, and she could pick out his silhouette against the whorled windows of the stateroom, the outline of his feathered hat and broad back unmistakable even in the gloom. A tiny, scraggly shape scampered along the window ledge before climbing onto Barbossa's arm and finding itself a seat on its master's shoulder. Jack the Monkey's tiny eyes glowed red in the dark and the beast chattered at her in a menacing way as she stepped towards the pair.

"What were ye thinkin', approachin' unannounced?" Barbossa said incredulously. "Could have killed ye just now. Ye didn't ever...yer not supposed to be here."

Perhaps her scare had sobered her, for she now felt imminently foolish at having made the trek across the harbour to seek him out. "That's true," she admitted, glad that he couldn't see her blush sheepishly. "I had no right to impose myself on you. Forgive me, Captain...I'll see myself back to my ship."

"No!" he exclaimed, and she could see from the shift in his shadow that he had turned to look at her. "No. I be the one as should be seekin' forgiveness. Me conduct was inexcusable...have I hurt ye badly? Do ye need tendin' to?"

His words surprised and touched her; she had never heard him express a single regret for his actions or any concern over her wellbeing. She'd likely be covered in bruises come morning, but he clearly felt badly enough about what he'd done without her sharing the results. "Just a few bumps, honestly. It's nothing to worry about. And I understand perfectly – after all, I'd likely have fought first and asked questions later had an intruder entered my rooms unexpectedly."

"All the same," he muttered remorsefully, "apologies, Miss Swann. 'Tis not me habit to attack those as can't protect themselves."

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile. "It's 'Captain', actually. Or 'Your Highness,' if you'd prefer. And who says I'm not capable of protecting myself? You caught me unawares, is all. I promise you, I won't be so careless again."

His deep, husky chuckle made her grin even wider. "Right ye are, _Yer Highness_. And I'll endeavour to give ye fair warnin' next time I plan to challenge ye – that way, ye'll have every chance to demonstrate yer well-honed skills in the art of combat."

Her answering laugh faded away and for a few minutes, the silence stretched out between them. It was a strange sensation, this awkwardness, and Elizabeth couldn't help but wonder if the fact that she'd decried his strategy at the meeting of the Brethren hours earlier wasn't behind his change in manner. Or perhaps it merely seemed odd because it was the first time she'd been truly alone with him since that first night aboard the _Black Pearl_.

"Why have ye come?" Barbossa finally asked sombrely, the light heartedness of the previous moment gone.

"I came because..." For a heartbeat, she considered another glib response to try and break the tension, but to do so would have seemed wrong. There was something terribly serious about his question and she felt compelled to be honest with him. "...because I didn't want to be alone tonight."

His heavy footsteps seemed very loud in the quiet room, and his hulking shadow came closer. "Were ye all by yerself on the _Empress_, then? Or is it a particular type of company that ye be seekin' that brings ye to the _Pearl_? Perhaps ye believed ye'd find Sparrow aboard and amenable to providin' ye with some small comfort in yer time of need..."

Elizabeth straightened and huffed indignantly. "I resent your insinuation, Captain. I did not come here looking for Jack nor was I hoping to obtain that particular kind of...comfort...to which you refer. In fact, I believed that you might be glad for some fine wine and quiet conversation on the eve of war, but if your only response is to cast aspersions on my character..."

Two quick strides brought him very close...she could feel the heat of his body and his breath blowing gently across her face. "And what would ye have me think? King or not, yer a woman...and here ye've boarded me vessel with an offer of wine and pleasurable...conversation, shall we say. Either ye believe me too old and enfeebled to be a threat to yer innocence, or ye knew very well what ye were after when ye set out to find me."

Gritting her teeth in anger, Elizabeth pushed him away forcefully with the heels of her hands, causing the monkey to screech hysterically and attempt to scratch her face with its nasty little talons. Barbossa's accusation was baseless, of course, and it was only her own unease that caused her heart to pound more quickly within her chest at the suggestion that she had sought him out for more than talk. "Or perhaps I simply thought you a gentleman, although the very idea seems ludicrous now. I don't know what has come over you tonight, but I very much regret making such a foolish assumption about our...camaraderie. Regardless, I'll not stand about in the dark arguing with you. I bid you a good night." She started back towards where she was fairly sure the door lay, stumbling only slightly in the gloom when her gown caught on a chair.

"Lizabeth," Barbossa murmured quietly, and the soft sound of her name from his lips stopped her in her tracks. He'd never called her by her given name before...but there was an intimate familiarity in the way he said it that sent a shiver through her entire body.

"Yes?" Elizabeth whispered, her nerves abuzz.

"Ye must understand," he said, his footsteps moving away from her again, "that I'm not meself tonight. I'll not weigh ye down with the reasons, but if ye could see yer way to lookin' past me rude and disrespectful behaviour, happy I'd be to share yer company fer a time. What with us facin' Beckett and his forces come sunrise, the opportunity might ne'er present itself again and I'd regret havin' parted on such poor terms."

There was something inherently sad in the way he spoke that kept her from retorting sharply. Perhaps the fearsome Captain Blackheart felt every bit as alone as she did, after all. What would it hurt to let his crude and loutish remarks pass if both of them could find peace and mutual contentment for a few hours?

"All right...yes," she said tentatively. "I'd like that very much. Could I ask, though, that you bring up the lights? If we are to socialize, I think it might be best if we could actually see one another."

He didn't reply for a moment and she wondered briefly if maybe he hadn't heard her. "As ye wish," he finally said with apparent reluctance. Elizabeth stayed where she was, watching as he made his way from lamp to lamp, the scent of burning oil wafting through the air around them. Gradually the dimness receded and was replaced by a pleasant golden glow from the lanterns, their reflections gleaming softly off the dark wooden panelling.

Barbossa earned a squeaky rebuke as he gently lifted Jack from his shoulder and slipped the animal into a large brass cage hanging from the ceiling. A bit of sympathetic cooing followed by a small piece of fruit went a very long way towards placating the little beast, though, and after Barbossa tugged a heavy black hood over the cage, there wasn't another sound from within. Elizabeth sighed silently in relief; she'd always found the creature unnerving, not least of all because it remained undead even after the curse had been lifted from the rest of the crew.

Barbossa still had his back to her when he'd finished, looking through the Pearl's windows out over the calm waters of the pirates' haven. "I believe ye mentioned somethin' in passin' about wine?" he said, glancing at her over his shoulder before returning his attention to the harbour.

He cut a very distinguished figure beside the misty panes, she thought to herself. Despite his inexplicable mood, his bearing seemed almost regal. The way he held his head, the proud curve of his back as he gazed out at the other ships...he had the demeanour of a monarch surveying his kingdom. By all rights, he should have been the one elected to lead the Brethren; the position would have suited him far better than it did her. She got so caught up in imagining Barbossa as a king that it took her a few seconds to realize that he'd spoken. "Oh! Yes, of course...I left it just outside," she answered a bit too shrilly, her face flushing. She'd almost forgotten why she'd come...to make sure that someone who would appreciate the quality of the wine was given the opportunity to do so.

Elizabeth found the decanter where she'd placed it – fortunately, Mr. Gibbs had not awakened, for Jack's first mate seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to finding liquor. He was where she'd left him, however, snoring as he floated happily through rum-soaked dreams. Returning to the cabin, she retrieved two golden goblets from where they sat upon the sideboard and poured a generous serving into each one. "Captain," she said warmly, stepping behind Barbossa and holding out his share of the wine. "Shall we drink to fair winds and good fortune on the morrow?"

"Thankee, Yer Highness," he said, turning slowly and taking the goblet from her. His long fingers lightly brushed hers as they wrapped around the stem but she hardly noticed the contact, shocked as she was when she looked up into his face.

It was as though someone had rolled the years back on Hector Barbossa's life, so dramatic was the change in his appearance from only hours earlier. Gone were the mottled skin and yellowed eyes with which she'd grown so familiar during their voyages together. His eyes were bright and clear, and of a blue reminiscent of a storm-tossed ocean. There were still a few laugh lines around his mouth and crow's feet around his eyes, but his face was smoother, kissed tan by hundreds of days beneath the Caribbean sun.

His lips were no longer wind burnt but instead looked full and soft, and even the scar beneath his left eye seemed less prominent. And he'd obviously taken Jack's caustic remarks about his beard to heart, for he'd taken the time to trim and comb the coarse hair neatly so that it flattered the hard lines of his jaw. All in all, he was the very picture of vigour and health – and a rather striking picture at that.

He endured her artless scrutiny without comment, gazing unflinchingly back at her. "I say...that is...you look very different tonight," Elizabeth finally managed to stammer, fighting the urge to touch his face and test the truth of what she was seeing.

"Different?" he said, shrugging slightly. "A trick of the light, perhaps."

She narrowed her eyes at him. When he spoke, she could see that his teeth were no longer stained and pitted with decay, but instead as clean and white as her own. "No," she said, shaking her head and backing away slowly. "You've changed. I don't know how..."

The difference wasn't scary but it was unnerving. Elizabeth glanced down at the contents of her glass...perhaps her crew had dissolved something into the wine before allowing the steward to bring it to her. There was no shortage of opium on board her vessel; she'd smelled the vapours wafting from the crew quarters and observed the watery stares of those who had partaken of the drug. It was possible that a combination of both opium and fatigue would account for the visions she was experiencing...and the direction her thoughts seemed to be taking when she looked at Barbossa.

"Mebbe," he suggested hoarsely, closing the distance between them once more, "all that's changed is that ye be seein' me through new eyes."

His proximity was unsettling and she turned from him, hiding her discomfort by taking another sip of the wine. Tainted or not, it gave her an excuse to focus her attentions elsewhere. "And why, pray tell, would you think that?" she muttered into her cup as she walked around to the opposite side of the immense table in the centre of the room.

"Sev'ral reasons," he replied, pulling out a chair across from where she'd paused. Barbossa sat down, leaned back and settled his swash boots on the table top with a thump. He stared at her unabashedly and she found it difficult to meet his eyes again. There was something far too intense and knowing in his expression. The evening was definitely not proceeding as she'd envisioned it and yet she couldn't bring herself to leave until her curiosity was satisfied.

"Such as?" Elizabeth said haughtily, busying herself by tracing the etchings on the golden goblet with her fingernail.

"Could be ye've figured out that this might be yer last night upon this mortal coil," he said, his voice low and seductive. "At such times, ain't unusual for people to seek out sensual pleasures...and more so those they've denied themselves fer too long already."

"I believe I made myself quite clear on that point earlier," she snapped petulantly, shooting him a searing look. "Besides, had that been my only priority, I'm sure I could have found any number of willing...participants...on my own ship."

"True enough," he agreed, his lips twitching in amusement. "Well, if 'tis not a lover ye be wantin', then, perhaps t'was yer thought that I'd lend you the comforts of a father, seein' as ye've been robbed of yer own through Beckett's villainy."

Grief knifed through her and the horrible pain nearly brought her to tears. She gave him her back and surreptitiously wiped her eyes before he could see her reaction to his callous comment. "Of all the ways in which I've thought of you, Captain," she sniffed, "you may rest assured that I have never considered you a paternal substitute."

The legs of his chair squawked against the wooden floor as he abruptly pushed it back, and she listened to his heavy footfalls with something akin to panic. He stood behind her again...closer than he'd been before...and his scent surrounded her. Soap, leather, sweat and wine, entrancing smells enhanced by the warmth of his body. Elizabeth swallowed hard, waiting for him to speak...to touch her...to do something. The anticipation was unbearable.

"Then, 'Lizabeth," he crooned lyrically, his breath caressing her temple as he leaned against her and placed his hands on her upper arms, "I'm thinkin' that yer here with me 'cuz ye know there ain't another man so closely matched to ye. No other as can see through to yer wild heart...who knows of the darkness that lurks in yer soul...or who understands yer passions and desires. Fer Jack, ye'd be naught but another prize, to be used and tossed to the side...and to young William Turner, a dutiful wife and mother. But ye know deep inside that what they offer ain't enough...ye crave the freedom to make yer own way...to chart yer own course. And ye know with me, there'd ne'er be a need to be anythin' but what ye are..."

She started to tremble in his grasp and her heart thudded hard against the confines of its bony prison, wanting to break free and fly. "And what is it that you believe me to be?" she asked, her voice unsteady with fear...and if she dared admit it, a glimmer of hope.

"A woman," he growled dangerously, nuzzling against her hair, "A pirate...a _goddess_."

Elizabeth gasped. She felt light-headed and it was becoming more difficult to think clearly. She wanted to blame the wine again but knew it would be a lie. "Pretty words, Captain. As tempting a picture as you paint, though, how can I trust that you wouldn't just take me tonight and leave me in the morning, ruined and alone?"

He went completely still before his hands dropped from her arms. "If ye must ask, then I don't suppose ye can," he snarled.

She dared to look over her shoulder, watching apprehensively as he stalked away and snatched up his goblet from where he'd abandoned it. He threw back his head and gulped down his wine before slamming the chalice back on the table with enough force that he gouged the polished wood and made her jump. There was an inquisitive chirp from beneath the heavy cloth on Jack's cage, but the captain was too far put out to pay his pet any mind.

"You can't blame me for wondering about your intentions," she said defensively, daintily setting her own cup on the table. "You are, after all..."

Barbossa rounded on her, the muscles in his neck bulging and his teeth bared. "Don't ye go and impugn me honour, woman! Long have I watched ye wave yer virtue like a red cape before the world, temptin' and teasin' every man as crosses yer path. Ye flaunt yer maidenhood, then turn about and pretend offence when those ye've tested try to win yer affections, but I be tellin' ye now...'tis a dangerous sort of game to be playin'. I ain't no paper tiger, missy, and t'would be a mistake fer ye to think otherwise!"

Elizabeth shrank back, instinctively bringing her hand to her throat as she watched him advance on her. Her pulse fluttered madly beneath her fingertips and she pressed her hand to her chest, trying not to fidget nervously in the face of his fury. "How dare you speak to me that way!" she squeaked tremulously. Trapped between Barbossa and the table, she was unable to escape and strangely uncertain that she even wanted to try.

"I dare what no one else will." He pinned her with his lascivious gaze as he slid one hand around her waist and tugged her against him, the serpent pendant on his chest shifting with his quickened breath. "I be Captain Hector Barbossa, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. Returned from the dead and forever the true captain of the _Black Pearl_, the most feared ship as has ever sailed the Seven Seas. I've fought a thousand battles and slain a thousand men, and I'll no longer be denied that which I covet."

He fell upon her, kissing her hard. Her eyes widened in shock and she whimpered, grabbing at the sleeves of his coat to try and force him away. This was no gentle, chaste kiss like those she'd once shared with Will Turner; it was rough and passionate, out of control. His beard chafed at her tender skin and his hot tongue swept in between her teeth, slick and probing as he forced her mouth to open wider. A shiver of pure, unadulterated arousal swept through her, thrilling and shaming her at the same time.

It was wrong...this shouldn't be happening; it shouldn't feel so very wonderful. She tried to wriggle away, tried to protest, but when he grasped her by the back of her head and bunched her hair into his fist, she had no choice to submit to his brutish assault. It was getting harder to breathe...or at least, she breathed harder and faster as he kissed her senseless, so deeply that she could taste the fine wine she'd brought on his lips and tongue. He was pressed against her, hard angles thrusting against her softer curves as he fought to divest her of her heavy silk robe.

Getting rid of the robe wasn't such a bad idea, she thought...she was, after all, feeling rather feverish from the wine she'd consumed. Or maybe it was just having Barbossa so close and robbing her of the chance to draw a decent breath that made her so warm. Almost without knowing she was doing it, she shrugged the peignoir off her shoulders, making it easier for him to slide the cumbersome garment from her body and onto the table behind her.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet and she had to clutch his arms more tightly to remain standing. Elizabeth could feel his corded muscles move even through the many layers of fabric he wore and wondered what his skin would feel like beneath...hot, naked and smooth. The thought caused something to clench hard deep inside of her and she moaned helplessly at the sensation.

Barbossa broke the kiss at the sound, staring down at her with dark, hooded eyes. She trembled at the raw hunger she saw on his face and tried to lean closer, desperate to move against him...desperate to relieve some of the lust that he'd sparked. He didn't allow it, though, and instead yanked cruelly on her hair, forcing her to arch and expose her neck to him like prey before a predator. He bent over her, bestowing exquisitely painful bites on thin skin of her throat. As he did so, the fluffy black feathers on his hat slid forward and fell across her face.

Elizabeth sputtered as the downy tendrils brushed over her nose and got stuck between her lips. The unpleasant feeling drew her from of her passion-induced stupor, almost as though she was being pulled up through warm waters and out into a cold wind. She gagged and tried to push the feathers away with one hand even as Barbossa remained oblivious to what was happening. As he continued his ardent attentions, the feathers swept up into her nostrils and even caught in her eye lashes. "Enough of this ridiculous hat," she groaned. "The feathers tickle...Barbossa, take it off!"


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

As bizarre as nearly everything had been for them thus far, Barbossa should have been past surprises. When Elizabeth had echoed the words of her future self, though...the same ones she'd sleepily uttered the morning after they'd first consummated their love...it was truly was more than a man could be expected to bear.

Hardly an hour earlier, he'd found himself standing alone and naked in his quarters on the _Pearl_, grasping only the pendant that Elizabeth had worn when he'd stepped into the portal, cradling her body in his arms. Nothing from the twenty-first century had made it through to the other side...and that seemingly included Elizabeth herself. He'd been devastated to find her gone from his embrace and the grief had driven him to his knees, leaving him too consumed by his loss to even cry out.

He remembered that on the eve of the original skirmish - like most every man who'd made port - he'd spent the night drinking and whoring in the taverns of the town of Shipwreck. War was always an uncertain thing and as he'd not been afforded the opportunity for either a good fuck or a good drunk since his resurrection, Hector had been determined to pursue both to excess in case he was cut down in the midst of battle and the opportunity to do so again escaped him forever.

The pain of his loss was too fresh and raw now, though, to even attempt to recreate those hedonistic hours. Instead he'd sequestered himself in his cabin, dimming the lights and nursing his shattered heart in the cold comfort of the darkness. He knew he had to venture forth, had to find the young Elizabeth Swann and somehow convince her of the need to walk a different path, but it was an easier thing to say than do. Even donning the old familiar clothes and jewellery he'd found lain out as though by some phantom manservant had proven a terrible ordeal.

It should have brought him some small measure of peace to be back aboard the _Pearl_, but he found no consolation in the ornate furniture and plush drapes that had been the backdrop of his life for so long. Where there had been deep, rich colour, his surroundings now seemed grey and lifeless. The apples on the table were bitter and mealy, the wine no more tempting than seawater. Even little Jack's company brought him no joy; Hector was so sick with sorrow that he found himself wishing he'd taken his own life at Tia Dalma's hut and died as well.

As if someone was aware of that very desire and moreover, intent on fulfilling it, the sanctity of his quarters had been breached by an intruder. Had his mind not been clouded with sorrow, such an incursion would not have been possible at all; regardless, he had no choice but to fight. In a moment of cold clarity, Hector decided that the interloper was intent on hastening his demise before the impending battle. Instinctively, he attacked his would-be assassin, a faceless and almost welcome target for his wounded rage. The discovery that it was Elizabeth who had crept into his cabin had almost been enough to stop his heart entirely, accompanied as it was with the shattering realization that he'd come within a breath of killing her himself.

It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to compose himself to speak, never mind actually face the girl. Her manifestation was too much like a haunting to do anything but cause him more pain.

As she spoke to him, he was grudgingly forced to consider that she might have sought him out that night so long ago, only to return disappointed to the _Empress_ when she found him absent. Had he remained aboard then and spent an evening in thoughtful contemplation rather than inebriated and sated oblivion, perhaps she'd never have married Will Turner at all and would have been his from the day of the battle onwards.

But Hector Barbossa was no longer the same man he once was, and had he been presented with the same opportunity then, he'd likely have botched any attempt at seduction with artless gropes and vulgar words. He might have loved Elizabeth all along, but he hadn't truly known her until they'd found one another again in Florida…not in any way that mattered.

Over the centuries, Hector had forgotten how very young she'd been when they'd first met...no more than a child wrapped in the trappings of womanhood and for certain not old enough to know that which she didn't yet know. At least with the lights low, he could simply listen to her voice and imagine that the Elizabeth who loved him hadn't just vanished from his arms. He hadn't foreseen the anger he'd feel when the lanterns glared brightly and showed her to be the dewy, innocent maiden instead of the woman to whom he'd given his heart.

His anger grew when it became clear that she was no more than she appeared to be. He could find no part of his Elizabeth within her, no memory of their deepest desires or shared tumultuous history. The disappointment made him cruel...he lashed out in rebuke at her for being who she was instead of the one he so desperately needed her to be. When he kissed her roughly, it hadn't come from passion...it was, in fact, so spiteful that it bordered on hatred.

Although Elizabeth gave some token resistance at first, she didn't fight him...in fact, she submitted to him completely, taking the brunt of his assault and returning only hungry whimpers and needful sighs. Her reaction infuriated Hector further even as it spurred on his lust... why did she not scream, cry, or protest his savage behaviour rather than welcome it? Worse still, wanting her so badly felt like a terrible betrayal of the Elizabeth he loved and he hated her for that, too. He'd been on the verge of taking her out of sheer malice when she said what she'd said...

* * *

_"Enough of this ridiculous hat. The feathers tickle...Barbossa, take it off!"_

Her words crashed against his heart like a rogue wave breaking over the bow, dousing both rage and arousal with shocking suddenness. Ridiculous statement though it was, he understood immediately that what she said must be an omen. When Elizabeth had first muttered that very phrase on a tranquil morning aboard the _Corazón Perdido_, it had been a memory after all, 'though he'd had no way of knowing so at the time. A memory of this night... this moment...this past. A sign that events were already in motion that would bring about a change in the future...

There was no _other_ Elizabeth, he finally realized as grief washed over him again...not anymore. But the fact that the girl came to him…had chosen him above all others…it had to mean something. Whether she truly comprehended what it was she was seeking from him, he had no way of knowing. But perhaps her presence meant that Elizabeth's soul was reaching out to him the only way it could.

Feeling contrite and shaken, he loosened his grip on her hair and embraced her more gently as she found her feet again. "I shouldn't have said that," she murmured, crossing her arms bashfully over her chest. "It wasn't my intention to offend."

She thought he had stopped because he was upset that she'd insulted his hat! Hector almost laughed at the ludicrousness of it, but knew that a single wrong word would send her scurrying back to the _Empress_, embarrassed and angry. He had to tread carefully. There was no recognition from her yet...at least, not the type of recognition he sought. But what she had blurted out gave him sufficient hope that he couldn't bear to have her leave just yet.

"Me hide ain't so thin as all that, girl," he assured her, tilting her chin up and forcing her to meet his eyes again. He took his tattered hat in hand and tossed it by the brim onto the table behind them, watching for a moment as it skimmed over the smooth surface and came to a rest just short of the edge.

Elizabeth looked up at him and bit her lip in such an endearingly familiar way that his heart tumbled over itself. "I don't know that I've ever seen you without your hat," she said shyly, her cheeks flushing a most appealing shade of pink. "It will take some getting used to..."

She was nervous, that much he could see...uncertain yet sorely tempted by what she wanted so desperately. Tentatively she leaned closer, clutching his shoulders and standing on the tips of her toes until she could press her lips lightly to his. Caught by surprise, Hector let her take the lead, willing to give her free rein – at least for the time being. Her kiss was timid and soft, an exploration of his mouth that was untutored but captivating nonetheless. Her sweet breath was scented with the bouquet of the wine she'd consumed, and he groaned deep in his throat as she dared to flick the tip of his tongue with her own. Her approach was so unlike what he'd come to expect from Elizabeth, but still she was able to bring him swiftly to readiness, his need renewed with the delicate butterfly kisses she was bestowing.

"If that be the reward fer complyin' with yer request," Hector rasped, slipping his hands over the swell of her hips and drawing her closer, exalting in the feel of her sleek body nestling against his, "then ye need but ask, and I'll not rest 'til the moon and stars be yers for the takin."

"I've no interest in celestial bodies, Barbossa," Elizabeth confessed, her voice sultry with longing as she kissed the line of his jaw and tugged the kerchief from his head. "Tonight I want only yours."

At any other time and with any other woman, the same wanton words would have shattered Hector's control. He steeled himself against the rising fire in his blood, his hands fisted in restraint. He would not have her first time be something brutish and rough. If he was to be the one to take her innocence – if she was indeed offering him that most sacred gift – then it would be done gently and slowly. And maybe...just maybe...it would be what reignited her memory of their love.

He kissed her sweetly, savouring the silky smoothness of her lips and sampling the tender hollows of her mouth until she quaked beneath his ardent affections. She rubbed against him like a cat and dug her nails into the shoulders of his coat as she sought purchase, feminine instincts picking up where her experience fell short. His cock pulsed against her navel as she parted her lips further and curled her tongue around his in a teasing, maddening rhythm.

"'Lizabeth," he gasped as he unwillingly pulled away, needing to speak before all lucid thought fled his brain. "Should I take ye to me bed, there can be no turnin' back. Long have I had me heart set upon ye and I'll not be capable of holdin' meself in check should ye have second thoughts in the midst of passion. If ye have doubts, now be the time…"

"Good lord, what do you expect from me?" she cried, her head falling back in exasperation. "My very presence should speak for itself...you said as much just moments ago!"

"And in the bright light of day?" he countered, "What then? Will tomorrow find ye avoidin' me gaze and tryin' to convince yerself that I took liberties? Fer too long already have ye thought ill of me..." It would be worse by far to follow through with his desires if he thought she'd hate him for it afterwards.

Elizabeth bunched the lapels of his coat into her small fists, pulling him so close that he could see the topaz flecks in her earnest eyes and feel her warm breath caressing his face. "I've been plagued by doubt every step of our journey, have questioned every decision I've made since we set out. But not tonight…not with you."

She turned from him then, hugging her elbows as she returned to the table. The lamplight shone through her gauzy gown and revealed a clear silhouette of her long, lithe body that caused Hector to suck in a sharp breath. She almost seemed to be some elusive fey creature from the stories his mother had told him when he was but a lad. Elizabeth Swann...beautiful and otherworldly, a creature of magic and light.

"You're right about one thing... it's taken facing death for me to finally see things clearly. To understand that what I've been seeking so desperately has been there all along; I was just too blinded by what I thought I should want to be able to appreciate it," she said quietly, picking up his hat and stroking the dark ostrich plumes in such an intimate way that he nearly moaned from envy. "But when I stood still long enough to listen to my heart tonight, I suddenly knew. Whether our world ends at dawn or stretches on for decades ahead of us, my choice would remain the same."

Elizabeth threw his hat down and came around to face him again. He offered his hand to her and she took it, her slender fingers weaving through his and her eyes sparkling as she let him pull her close. She laid her palms against his chest and chastely kissed him. Such tenderness thrust the remaining pain of loss from the chambers of his heart and rendered him speechless with emotion. "A woman can only surrender her virtue once, Hector," she whispered. "Don't ever think I came to you lightly."

Whatever qualms he had disappeared the instant she said his given name. Barbossa swept her up into his arms, kissing her fiercely as he carried her across the cabin to his narrow featherbed. Her body trembled as her arms locked tightly around his neck and her mouth responded hungrily beneath his as he laid her across the rumpled sheets. He slipped his arms from beneath her and stood, gazing possessively at the prize that was once again his to claim.

The sight of the girl stretched out across his bed was one he knew he'd carry in his mind and heart forever. Caught somewhere in between youthful arousal and skittish anticipation, she stared up at him, her eyes dark and trusting. Her pert little nipples pressed against her pale cotton bodice, jutting upwards with each eager breath. Golden brown hair cascaded over his pillows, glossy sun-kissed waves shining like fine Oriental silk. She swallowed hard and his eyes were drawn to her smooth throat, her pulse fluttering visibly just beneath her jaw. He wanted to kiss her there, to savour the scent of her skin and feel her heartbeat quicken against his lips as she yielded to her desires…and his.

Hector kicked off his boots and knelt beside the bed, caressing her bare arm with the back of his fingers and smiling as he watched gooseflesh rise in wake of his touch. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers, catching her gasp of pleasure in his mouth as his fingertips grazed her breast through soft fabric. He tugged roughly on the ribbon that held her gown modestly closed, intent on freeing her from her last bit of clothing. Just as the ties came loose, though, she suddenly grabbed his hand and stopped him short.

He jerked his head up, confused by her reluctance. "Wait…please," she said breathlessly, kissing his knuckles to soothe his irritation. "It doesn't seem fair that I'm wearing next to nothing while you're still fully clothed." Elizabeth smiled bashfully. "I want to see you, too."

Caught up as he'd become in partaking of her charms, it hadn't once occurred to him that she might want to indulge herself in the same way. In fact, he'd forgotten that she'd likely never laid eyes on a man unclothed, least of all him. It pleased him that she was brave enough to demand it of him…it boded well for the night. "There'd have been nothin' between us eventually," he said, grinning as he lifted his arm and slipped the baldric off his shoulder. "But if yer not inclined to wait, far be it from me to deprive ye."

He'd just begun to wrestle with his coat when she sat up, settling on her knees before him. Lunging forward, she caught his lips in another impulsive kiss that sent hot, fierce need sluicing through his body. She nearly robbed him of the coordination necessary to disrobe as her tongue tangled with his and her lips slid over his mouth, uttering low moans of bliss from deep within her chest that he couldn't help but echo.

Elizabeth fumbled impatiently with the buttons on his waistcoat, groaning her frustration as they stuck. "Why must you wear so damned many clothes?" she complained, abandoning her efforts when he pushed her hands away and took care of the buttons himself. Her hands dropped instead to Hector's waist, and she slipped her fingers beneath the knots of his sash, tugging and working at it until she drew it from around his body and flung it aside.

"Any captain worth his salt must dress the part," he grumbled between kisses, rolling his shoulders so that both coats slid down his arms. He fought with the sleeves until the heavy garments fell away and there remained only a thin linen shirt between her hands and his skin. "Besides, anticipation enhances the thrill."

He felt the puff of her laugh against his lips as she yanked hard on the buckle of his broad belt and heard the heavy leather band hit the floor with a dull thunk. "I have anticipated for far too long."

Her unexpected boldness stirred the fire in his blood. Unwilling to take precious minutes to unfasten the many small white buttons on his shirt, he sat back on his heels and simply pulled it off over his head instead. Her hands were on him in an instant, greedily moving over his hot, damp skin in a journey of sensuous discovery. Hector exhaled sharply and closed his eyes as her fingers feathered over his shoulders and torso, so delicately that it was no less than pure carnal torture. As she trailed small, wet kisses across his chest, he kept his hands clasped at his side, determined not to interrupt her delicious exploration lest she stop altogether. Within the confines of his small clothes he grew increasingly stiff and heavy, and he warred with the conflicting urges of letting her take what she wanted in her own time and taking what he wanted now.

Desperate to touch her, he slid his fingers beneath her jaw and cradled her face, kissing her lush, swollen lips with such urgency that she writhed against him. Her fragrance surrounded him, the subtle perfume of her skin and the earthy scent of her arousal filling his senses. The effect was as dizzying as the most potent of liquors, and he was finding it a struggle not to succumb to his baser instincts and plunge himself into the warm, wet haven between her legs. Though it might have brought him some measure of relief to do so, hurting her like that – and there was no doubt that if he took her before the time was right, she'd be injured in more ways than one – would turn her from him for good. No, it was a situation that required patience and he'd have to tamp down his own needs until he knew she was ready to take him.

Deflowering maidens had never been much to Hector's taste; too often it seemed to end in tears for the young woman and naught but frustration for her partner. When he'd taken lovers in the past, he'd unfailingly sought out those women as knew how to please a man and better yet, how to take their own pleasure in turn. But this time was different. There was endless satisfaction in the knowledge that no one else had yet tasted her in the way he would...no one else would draw the same startled, lustful cries from her throat. The mysteries of her body would be revealed to him alone, his to plunder...his to keep. It would be worth the delay.

As they kissed, her gown slipped off her shoulders to reveal the crest of her milky white breasts, and he sighed unsteadily as he parted her bodice to expose them completely. Her dusty rose nipples were taut and too delectable a temptation to resist, so he ducked his head, sucking one in between his teeth and teasing it to a hard point with the tip of his tongue. Elizabeth gasped and arched her back, roughly grabbing at the nape of his neck so she could thrust herself further into his mouth.

He suckled unremittingly, splaying his hands over her shoulder blades to hold her in place as she moved against him, her breathing short and her fingers snagging painfully in his hair. Abruptly he drew away, eliciting a pleading whimper from Elizabeth that made him smile wickedly. Her protest was cut short as he filled his mouth with her other satiny breast, paying it the same devoted homage as he had the first. Each lave of Hector's tongue, each nip of his teeth sent shivers through her that he knew were bringing her ever closer to the edge.

Her moans began to border on impassioned sobs and from the honest intensity of her response, he knew he could bring her to climax in that fashion if he so chose. It would do him no good, though, to exhaust her before they could find their release together. No other way was so utterly satisfying and he desperately wanted to be buried deep within her when she first found fulfillment. Reluctantly he let her slick nipple slide from his mouth and kissed a path up between her breasts, feeling her pulse race against his lips as he nuzzled the sweat-dampened crook of her neck.

"Why...?" Elizabeth asked, her voice sounding as though she was parched with thirst. "Why did you stop?"

"T'was but a taste," Hector promised, skimming his mouth over the smooth arch of her throat. "Can't be rushin' it."

He tugged the straps of her shift downwards, pulling the gown off of her arms as far as the slight swell of her hips, where it settled in folds around her waist. The cooler air must have triggered some nearly forgotten habit of modesty, for she attempted to cover her breasts and the few soft curls barely glimpsed at the crux of her legs with her hands.

"We'll be havin' none of that," he scolded gently, taking her wrists and slowly forcing her down until she was laying on the coverlet, her arms pinned on either side of her head. He straddled her on the mattress but kept his weight on his knees, not wanting to do crush her slight body beneath him. "Ye'll keep no secrets from me..."

Elizabeth jerked beneath him in a vain attempt to free herself from his hold. "And yet you've managed to reveal very little," she said huffily, her eyes dark and hooded. She arched her brow and tilted her chin challengingly.

"Or not so little, as the case may be," he chuckled lowly, pressing one of her small hands against the heaviness that strained the front seams of his breeches. She sucked in a deep breath and her eyes widened with wonder, but she didn't try to pull away. Instead, she furtively wrapped her fingers around what she could and ran her palm slowly along his throbbing length, testing his control further. He clamped his jaw firmly and squeezed his eyes tight shut, subjecting himself to her inquisitive groping until he couldn't help but grind against her. He came dangerously close to spending himself early and ruining the night for good but as if sensing it, she left off just in time, her hand skimming over the ledge of his hip.

Hector's breath hitched, every part of him overly sensitive now. Elizabeth's eyes gleamed as she began to understand the power she wielded over him. "It feels very impressive, Barbossa," she said breathily, her cheeks and chest flush with red. "But I've always thought that seeing is believing." With that, she made a grab for the buttons that held his pants closed and began to wrest at them impatiently.

"Ye grow brazen, missy!" Hector growled, snatching her hand away and trapping it along with her other hand above her head. Elizabeth snarled at him and struggled in her bondage. His cock bucked, the physicality of the exchange heightening his excitement.

"Unhand me," she seethed, her breasts heaving as her breathing got shallower. Her skin glistened with a golden sheen of perspiration, a fine shimmering mist that made it seem as though she was aglow. She was an angel, he decided, even if the blazing fire in her eyes was more evocative of a demon.

He leaned closer, pressing himself between her legs enough so that she could feel every inch of him against her mound, clothed though they both were. "In me own good time," he grinned menacingly, shifting his hips and teasing her with the promise of what was to come before moving off of her again. Elizabeth's groan of frustration was almost enough to make him crow in triumph as he deftly secured her wrists in one hand, leaving the other free to torment her further.

Capturing her eyes in his burning gaze, he slid his fingers down the slender column of her neck, tracing a slow and tortuous path between her breasts and down to where her nightgown remained bundled up around her waist. Gathering up a handful of the garment, he yanked sharply and tore it heedlessly from under her hips, prompting her to cry out at the suddenness of it. It was a simple matter to disentangle her shapely legs from the material and then she was naked on the bed before him, tanned brown where the sun had bronzed her and pale as moonbeams everywhere else.

Rather than inflaming Elizabeth's passions further, though, stripping her remaining clothes away seemed to subdue her, and Hector's heart faltered at the unexpected vulnerability he saw emerge on her face. Her expression was a sharp reminder that she really was little more than a girl; in his eagerness to bed her, he'd lost sight of that. She didn't truly know him at this point, couldn't comprehend that his action hadn't been a prequel to brutality. Coming face to face with the shocking reality of being laid bare and completely at the mercy of a man much older and much stronger...it would be a daunting prospect for any young lass.

"Ye needn't look at me that way," he grumbled, damning himself inwardly for frightening her. "I'd not have forced ye."

It was maddening, trying to remember that he could no longer conduct himself like a rogue. Elizabeth might once have revelled in his aggression and even shared in it, but that was no longer the case...or at least, it wasn't the case yet. He eased himself off of her and stretched out at her side, allowing her hands to slip free from his hold. Although his manhood strained ardently against her thigh, he didn't make a move to touch her beyond that...he'd pushed his advantage too far as it was.

Elizabeth stared at him with seeming indecision before turning over and tucking her head under his chin. One small hand crept around his waist and settled on his back, her fingers spreading out as she attempted to snuggle closer. He groaned at the agony of having her so near, but he punished himself for his earlier fervour by not allowing himself even one needful stroke of her velvety skin.

"Have I ruined everything?" she murmured plaintively even as she entwined her legs with his.

"Ye've done nothin' wrong," he said crossly as she stroked the line of his backbone, the flittering feel of her caress causing him to shiver. "But gods above, girl...if only ye could see yerself through me eyes, ye'd understand how a man might lose control in the face of such loveliness."

She sucked in a sudden deep breath and went very still. "Hector, that was..." she said, her voice quavering slightly, "...no one has ever..."

Elizabeth propped herself up on one elbow and cradled his cheek in her hand, gazing at him seriously before kissing him with a wholeheartedness that enveloped his very soul. His arms curled around her of their own accord; whatever restraint he'd clung to was swept away in the rush of her innate passion.

The last of Hector's clothes vanished in a desperate flurry of movement. Between the two of them, he could not have said who was more determined to see the garments gone, nor did he care. All that mattered was that when he finally naked, the sensation of flesh against flesh was exquisite, familiar and new at the same time, and her eager touch caused his blood to sing through his veins.

As pleasantly distracting as he was sure his affections were, Elizabeth resisted his efforts to roll her beneath him again. Instead, she twisted away and slung a leg over his hip, pulling herself up to straddle his waist. Leaning forward and pushing down on his shoulders, she pinned him as best she could into the bedding. Had he so wished, it would have been an easy matter to throw her off; but as fortune would have it, his cock was nestled quite comfortably against the plumpness of her ass, and he was content for the time being to lay back and gaze upon her body in all its youthful glory.

He ran his hands up and down her thighs, marvelling again at the perfection of her willowy form. While it was true that she might not yet have the rounder hips and fuller breasts that would emerge as she came fully into womanhood, she was no less beautiful for that. It was enough that she was who she was; he couldn't help but love every part of her.

Her eyes glinted with mischief as she looked down at him through tousled hair. "Seems I have you where I want you," she teased, her grin shameless.

"Aye...and now that ye have, whate'er will ye do?" he answered slyly, spreading his fingers over her hips before dipping one hand between her legs to graze the moist, springy thatch of hair.

Elizabeth snatched hold of his wrist and held tight. "Why, whatever I want," she replied boldly, shoving the offending arm away with mock disdain.

"Then I'll run up the white flag and give meself over to yer tender mercies," Hector crooned, lifting his hands up above his head as though in surrender. The banter was playful but the words were heavy with expectation. The smile faded from Elizabeth's face as she realized it, mirth shifting to unabashed desire in a heartbeat.

With newfound intensity, she traced a worshipful path from his shoulders, over the firm corded muscles of his arms and down to his hands, sliding her fingers between his as she leaned in for a slow and lingering kiss. Better that she took the initiative the first time, he thought disjointedly as she bit hesitantly at his lip and then licked the small hurt away. He'd take his cues from her and not overwhelm her again.

Elizabeth nuzzled at his neck, her hot breath on his ear causing his eyes to roll up in his head. A soft groan escaped his lips as she sucked in one of his earlobes, the insistent tug of her mouth and the scrape of her teeth more stirring than he'd have thought possible. Her budded nipples slid over his chest, the tiny nubs pressing into his skin with each of her yearning sighs. As she moved, his cock slid back and forth over the cleft of her buttocks with shocking sensuality and he was left again to fight the impulse to toss her down and bury himself deeply within her silken sheath.

Tendrils of her hair fell across his face and he caught the fragrance of night blooming jasmine in her soft tresses, exotic and enticing. Their surroundings seemed to fade around them and he could almost imagine that they were alone on some tropical isle, unaffected by either time or the tragedies it had wrought.

Ah, if only that were true. Perhaps worse than the fact that he'd lost her once, Hector reflected as she lifted her head and stared at him with heavy-lidded adoration, was that he could very well lose her again. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with desolate tenderness, finally acknowledging to himself that he'd not survive it if she was taken from him again. Nor, he knew, would he want to.

But she was his now and the need to take her – to possess her body and by the grace of the gods, her soul – became too urgent to put off any longer. "'Lizabeth," he growled hungrily, smoothing his hands over her shoulders and the curve of her spine to knead the yielding flesh of her ass. "I must have ye; I cannot wait. I beg ye..."

Elizabeth swallowed hard and nodded her head, a faint tremor moving through her at his words. She slipped off of him and made a small whimpering sound that was part lust and part fear when she finally laid eyes upon that which jutted proudly from his loins. He moved up over her, compelling her to lie back upon the bed. As he towered above her, he could almost hear the runaway beat of her heart and some primitive aspect of his nature had him basking in the triumph of hunter over the hunted.

He wedged his knee into the tight space between her legs and spread her thighs apart. Elizabeth's eyes widened and she clutched tightly at his forearms as though bracing herself, prompting Hector to chuckle softly in response. "Relax, me girl," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers and kissing her gently until her mouth finally softened and her hold slackened. As their kisses grew more passionate, he stroked the inside of her thighs, bedewed by her arousal and feeling like damp velvet beneath his fingers. With a shaky sigh she let her legs fall open and in doing so, laid to rest the last of her well-bred inhibitions.

When he strummed his fingers lightly through the moist thatch of hair at the crux of her thighs, she took in a shocked, shuddering breath, and snatched hold of the bedsheets on either side of her. "Oh!" she cried out, "Please!"

"Please, what?" Hector whispered against her cheek, unable to keep the knowing smile from his face. His aching erection bobbed at the sound of her desperation and he shifted restlessly on his knees.

"Please..._oh, Hector_! Please don't stop," she implored huskily, reaching between them to encircle his wrist and tilting her hips upwards to meet his touch.

"Not 'til ye beg me fer release," he vowed, using his own legs to suddenly shove hers even further apart. "Not 'til ye grow hoarse from screamin' me name in the midst of yer rapture."

"Yes," she gasped as he dragged his fingers over her glistening folds. Her eyes sparked with the heat of yearning. "Yes...that's what I want."

He dipped his head, lapping at her rose-tinted nipple until he'd teased it to a perfect point. Elizabeth squirmed beneath him as he bathed her breast with his tongue, her breath catching when he circled her opening with one finger and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit.

"Yer so wet, so beautifully slick," Hector sighed, the words thick in his throat. There could be no question that she was ready; his fingers were coated in the luscious nectar that flowed from her quim and when he sank his finger into her up to the knuckle, her sheath squeezed tightly around him. He took her other breast in his mouth and licked, every taste of her salt-tinged flesh adding to his sweet, self-inflicted suffering.

"I feel…empty," she breathed heavily, her body shaking as she struggled for words. "I want to have you inside...I can't stand this ache any more. Don't torment me...please. Don't make me wait..."

"Wrap yer hand 'round me," he all but pleaded. "Guide me in...take what ye want of me. 'Tis all fer ye." Despite the enormity of his need, he still feared injuring her. Her hips were so slim...would she be able to withstand the brunt of his assault? Better served, she'd have been, with a man of lesser girth...

His last coherent thought vanished in the instant her fingers closed around him, and he was beyond forming the simplest of words for a time. He shivered as she lovingly fondled his fevered member, her leg curving around his hip to pull him closer. "Now," she cooed, her brow resting against the crown of his head. "I need you now."

"First time..." he managed to grunt as she nudged his cockhead against the slippery threshold of her body. "Only a brief hurt...when yer maidenhead is breached..."

"A moment of pain for a night full of pleasure," Elizabeth moaned as she thrust her hips forward and engulfed the tip of his cock in the liquid heat of her channel. "It seems a small price to pay."

He'd barely penetrated her, but the sensation was so all-encompassing that they both gasped sharply. The muscles in Hector's arms and shoulders bunched strongly with his efforts to restrain himself as she sank her nails into his forearms, the flash of pain making him harder still.

"More…" she snarled, her teeth bared savagely as she bucked under him. "Barbossa…"

Freed by the lust and need he saw in her eyes, he hooked her leg in the bend of his elbow and spread her wide as he could, hoping it would be enough that she'd suffer no damage. He bore down slowly, pressing further in and exalting in the feeling of being firmly embraced within her warm, tender depths.

He didn't get very far before he came upon the barrier that marked the last bastion of her virginity. Best it was to take it quickly and be done, he decided through a scarlet haze of passion – to prolong it seemed crueller by far. Hector thrust abruptly and Elizabeth hissed, her neck curving and her head sinking into the pillow at the sharp sting that marked the passing of her innocence.

Her mouth gaped slightly and her muscles quivered around him. She stiffened as she struggled to adjust to the massive intrusion into her body, a single tear trickling from the corner of her eye as she stared at him in astonishment. From the faint soreness he felt, he knew that she'd scratched long divots into his skin as he'd buried himself within her, but the pain seemed like nothing when he paused to savour each ripple of her pleasure as it flowed around him.

Before the tear could slide over her cheek, he bent and kissed it away. "The price has been paid, 'Lizabeth Swann," he murmured against her sweat-dotted temple, pulling out of her part way only to slowly sink back into her quivering passage. "Be ye ready to reap the rewards?"

"You're too big!" she keened, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Even as she said it, her hips came up off of the bed to meet his next thrust and a shudder swept through her that very nearly wrested his control away.

"Nay, just the right size," he promised softly, adjusting his position so that he'd be riding her higher, his shaft sliding over her swollen nub with every push. "I be the key to yer lock…ain't another who fits ye so well as I."

Hector stroked her thigh soothingly as he lunged forward, filling her again and dragging a cry of unadulterated joy from deep within her chest. Another thrust and she needed no further prompting; like the waves against the shore, she began to move with him in a gentle rhythm as ancient as the sea itself.

His balls rose tight and hard between his legs and he quickened his pace, demanding more of her. The slap of flesh against flesh grew louder, and Elizabeth clung to him, sinking her fingernails into his flank as though spurring him on. He drove himself into her over and over until at last, he felt the tell-tale flutter of her pussy around his cock.

"Look at me, 'Lizabeth," he demanded, cupping her chin in his hand. Her breath was laboured and it took a moment before her eyes blinked open and she focused on his face. Hector pinned her in his sights, determined that she should see for herself the emotions that filled his heart and ignited his lust.

"Hector!" she cried out, struggling to hold his gaze as she was swept up in the intensity of their joining. She fought for air and arched beneath him, caught in the rushing tide of her climax. Her hips rose and she mewled as he rocked against her, drawing out her orgasm with short, quick strokes until she came apart entirely and screamed his name.

He was trapped within her, her convulsing quim holding him so snugly that for a moment, it was impossible to move. Just as the waves of her completion slowed, he took her as brutally as he dared, groaning as he plunged hard and fast into her. When at last he was overtaken by his own pleasure, it felt like an inferno roaring up through his body and exploding outwards. Bowing over her, he came in long, straining bursts that were so euphoric he thought he might lose consciousness before he was able to fully spend himself.

They finally slumped together onto the mattress in a tangle of shaky limbs, Hector careful to ensure she wasn't pinned beneath his weight. He gathered Elizabeth close, cradling her against him as their hearts slowed and their breathing became easier again. For a while she quaked in his arms as little aftershocks of their lovemaking moved through her, and he couldn't help but take pride in bringing her bliss of such heights that it lingered long after the act itself.

They lay in silence, content and comfortable. Elizabeth snuggled against him, resting her cheek over his heart and drawing languid circles across his chest with her fingertip. The hull of the _Pearl_creaked faintly as it shifted in the water, and the room grew darker as the wicks on a few of the candles burned down to the base and sputtered out.

Enveloped in the hush of the moment, Hector knew that there were words that needed saying and questions that needed asking. What kept him from speaking was the worry that he might not receive the kind of answers he wanted so badly to hear. As much as it meant to be holding Elizabeth as he was, he didn't really have all of her…nor might he ever, he was forced to admit. And if after everything, an awareness of what they once were to one another never returned, what then? It seemed absurd to say he missed Elizabeth, still mourned her absence when she was right there beside him, but that made it no less true.

How long would he need to wait before he'd know if even the faintest spark of their love had survived? He had hope but not much more than that.

She shifted against him, sliding one of her legs between his and sighing softly before settling down again. He rested his cheek against her brow and shut his eyes. If Elizabeth never remembered and yet he could still claim her as his own, perhaps it shouldn't matter. All they needed to do was defeat Beckett and the Company again and he could court her properly. Or as properly as a haggard old scoundrel could.

"Hector?" she murmured, her breath an airy caress of his skin.

"Mmmm?" he grunted, running his hand lazily over her hip.

She paused as though gathering enough courage to speak up. "What's going to happen to us tomorrow?"

The fear in her voice was rare enough to capture Hector's full attention. He wanted to tell her not to worry, that victory would be theirs the next day, but he didn't know if that was still true or not. Enough had changed in the past few hours that the future was no longer certain. In the end, all he could give her was the truth as he knew it to be.

"I wish I could tell ye," he said, pulling her closer to his side. "Until we see what it is we have to face, I couldn't even venture a guess. We have skill and speed on our side, that be true – but even that might not be enough to win the day."

"Have I doomed us all, then?" she whispered, her throat sounding tight. On the verge of tears, she was, and he knew he'd have to choose his words with care.

"We wrote our own fates, 'Lizabeth. The kind of lives we've led as pirates– we ain't owed a thing. And whether we fight tomorrow or another day, there'll be no avoidin' the war that Beckett has brought down upon us." He wrapped both arms around her and hugged her gently. "But if this was our last night on earth...ah, girl, then t'was well spent."

"And if it's not?" she said, sniffling discretely to try and hide the fact that she had begun to cry. "Our last night, I mean?"

"Then perhaps," Hector answered as he rolled her under him and kissed her passionately, "we'll be celebratin' our triumph fer many a night to come."

Elizabeth smiled through her tears and slipped her arms around his neck, tugging the leather thong on his braid until his hair spilled free and slid over his shoulders. "Perhaps," she agreed, wrapping his ginger locks into her hand and pulling him down for another kiss. "Perhaps..."


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

For the longest time, Elizabeth simply watched Barbossa sleep.

Although morning had broken, there was only the faintest light coming through the windows of the _Pearl_; very little could penetrate the shadows cast by the crater walls looming above them. Still and all, it was enough that she could make out the figure of the man with whom she had shared the better part of her night...and herself.

He was sprawled across the expanse of the narrow mattress, rumpled ivory-coloured sheets modestly covering his hips. One of his hands lay over his heart as though he was taking a pledge and the other curled possessively over the curve of her hip, his elegant fingers settled lightly on the swell of her buttock. One long leg stuck out from beneath the blankets and hung over the edge of the bed. A dark diamond on the pale skin of his chest, the pendant he always wore rose and fell in time with each deep, steady breath. His lips were parted ever so slightly, as if inviting a kiss even in repose.

Elizabeth longed to give him exactly that but knew she couldn't stop there. During the night, he'd awakened a hunger within her that wouldn't be satisfied by something so simple as a kiss. She should have been left exhausted and sated after a night filled with ecstasy, but instead she had awakened wanting him with such desperation that her stomach was bunched into quivering knots. Elizabeth yearned to peel the sheets away and explore every part of him, memorizing the feel of his skin, the taste of his arousal, the scent of his desire.

Yet her feelings went beyond lust, and it was that very startling realization that had her studying him intensely as the first cold fingers of dawn crept across the floor of the cabin. Perhaps being bedded by a man for the first time brought forth the same kind of helpless, heartsick tenderness in every woman; she had no way of knowing and no one she could ask. But what she'd seen in his eyes as he'd moved within her stirred more than just her body, and she was left both frightened and elated at the prospect of what it might possibly mean.

As slowly and carefully as she could so as not to disturb him, Elizabeth slid out from beneath Barbossa's restful embrace. She winced as she swung one leg to the floor, the stiffness in her thighs and the faint throbbing between her legs testaments to the fervour of their coupling. It was an ache that brought with it its own satisfaction; she felt that what he'd given to her – or taken away, as the case may be – was a gift.

Hector frowned slightly at her absence and rolled from his back to his side before growing still again, perhaps finding some manner of peace in the warm spot she'd left behind. It was strange to see him so unguarded and at ease, she thought as she gazed down upon him. Awake, there was a dangerous edge to Barbossa that made itself felt whether he seemed in good spirits or not. For him to have allowed her close enough to see what truly lay behind his usual blustering and posturing spoke to a level of trust she found surprising. At a different point in time, she was forced to admit to herself, she'd have been tempted cut his throat had she found him in so susceptible a position; now, the very same sight made her feel protective. Covetous. Vulnerable.

She shook her head. All of these new emotions were ones she could ill afford to indulge, especially as they were on the verge of a war that threatened to consume them all...a war that she had insisted upon declaring despite considerable advice to the contrary.

Sour fear churned in her gut. If she returned to the sanctuary of Hector's bed, if she kissed and caressed her lover back to wakefulness, perhaps they could lose themselves in one another's arms and she could quell the terror that threatened to break her. Maybe if she clung to him tightly enough, they could stop time altogether and the battle would pass them by untouched...

Elizabeth turned from him and exhaled shakily. There were so many ready to engage the enemy on her say-so; the weight of their lives threatened to crush her spirit before the first shot had even been fired. No man, even one so fearsome and powerful as Hector Barbossa, could alter the course she'd set.

Wallowing in self-pity would do no good, though. She straightened her shoulders. What kind of pirate lord would shy away from such an unparalleled challenge? If she was fool enough to land them all in the middle of a clash, then she damned well owed it to her men to show the courage to see it through. Her acclamation as king of the Brethren Court might have been the result of one of Jack Sparrow's endless plots but it didn't absolve her of the responsibilities of the position.

She snatched her crumpled nightgown from where Hector had tossed it and tugged the garment impatiently over her head, fresh resolve tamping down the dread in her heart as she hastily dressed. It would do no good to cower aboard the _Pearl_, not with Beckett gleefully plotting the pirates' demise. If he wanted a fight, then she would do her level best to accommodate him.

Scooping up her robe, she took one final, longing look back at Hector's slumbering form. Whatever happened, she would not back down. She owed it to him...to them...to all free men. Elizabeth crept through the dimness towards the deck and slipped silently through the door.

* * *

All eyes turned as Elizabeth entered the dank, dark hall to where she'd summoned the other pirate lords. Tai Huang stuck close to her side, fingering the butt of his pistol as he glared defiantly around the room. As reluctant as he'd been to accept her authority when a dying Sao Feng bestowed her captaincy, her first mate had shown her nothing but respect since they'd escaped the_Flying Dutchman_. She doubted she could afford to take his loyalty for granted but he was playing his role well enough for the moment. So long as it was clear that she had the manpower to back her words, the other captains would be less inclined to press their advantage.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet," she began, leaning forward and resting her fingertips lightly on the scarred surface of the immense table. One by one she coldly met the gaze of the captains standing around the table, pausing only marginally longer when she came to Barbossa. His expression was one of polite interest and the only acknowledgement he gave her was a brief inclination of his head. As innocuous a gesture as it seemed, her heart skipped a beat and a flush burned her cheeks all the same. With any luck, she thought before she could drag her eyes from his, it was too dim in the room for anyone else to have noticed. The last thing she needed to do was sabotage her dubious credibility by betraying the secrets of her heart.

"Well, we are but loyal subjects," drawled Jack Sparrow, his eyes flashing deviously as he bowed with a flourish. His bald-faced insolence earned withering looks from more than just Elizabeth.

"You helped place me in this position of honour, Captain Sparrow," she replied haughtily. "You might have done so in jest, but I assure you that I couldn't take my duties as 'king' more seriously."

Jack folded his hands together and bowed once more. "A thousand pardons, Your Highness," he intoned, winking lasciviously at her. "I only did so because it was a position I thought you might find...enjoyable. Forgive the interruption. Please go on."

Hector crossed his arms and stared across the table until Sparrow cleared his throat and shifted his feet uncomfortably. Had Jack had figured out that her relationship with Barbossa had changed? She bit her lip nervously. If such was the case, there was little she could do about it now, and she saw no choice but to press forward. She could only hope Jack's discretion would ultimately be the better part of his valour and that he'd not use the knowledge as leverage against her. "Before we devise a strategy, may I ask each of you to provide an accounting of the number of ships at your disposal?"

"What strategy will make a difference?" snapped Gentleman Jocard. "The East India Comp'ny has untold resources. What hope have we of victory?" His nostrils flared and the heavy wooden necklace around his neck shifted as he indignantly puffed out his chest out.

"The stink of your fear is more than I can stand," growled Captain Villenueva, his greying whiskers bristling as he pointed a finger at Jocard. "Perhaps you should hide with the woman and children, and let those with _cajones_ take the fight to the enemy." He turned his watery brown eyes on Elizabeth. "The Spanish Treasure Fleet has two ships, Captain Swann. Worth at least ten of Jocard's, I'm thinking."

"The _Ranger_ would see your pathetic hulk at the bottom of the sea before you got off a single shot!" answered Jocard, his voice booming with righteous umbrage.

"Gentlemen, please..." Elizabeth tried to interject, watching the situation quickly slip from her control.

"Two of my junks accompanied the _Ningpo_ on this journey," boasted Mistress Ching, pursing her painted lips proudly. "Our swords are sharp and we thirst for British blood."

"I bring only my _Seref_ to the battle," Ammand the Corsair added, sweeping his cloak back over one shoulder and resting a hand on his hip. "But she will be more than enough to keep the infidels in their place."

"Perhaps we could set the _Ranger_ on fire and steer her on a course straight towards the enemy fleet," sneered Villanueva. "That decrepit dinghy and its crew can serve the greater good by igniting the _Endeavour_."

"Ha!" burst out Capitaine Chevalle. "I believe dat the greasy Spaniards would be make better torches. Why, de oil of your hair alone, Villanueva, would keep all the lanterns in da town of Shipwreck burning for a hundred years."

"Sri Sumbhajee believes that your behaviour marks you all as fools," cried out Pusasn on behalf of the Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean. His master sat taciturn and silent as ever, looking almost sad. "He has foreseen great misfortune ahead if we do not unite!"

Villanueva was too angry to listen. "Silence, French dog! Your wig must be on too tight if you think I'll bear such insults from the likes of you!"

"This isn't accomplishing anything!" Elizabeth yelled, vainly trying to make herself heard above the din. She slapped the surface of the table with the flat of her hand to little effect. The bickering grew in volume and the threat of violence simmered.

Jocard whipped out his dagger and excitedly waved it over his head. "I've an easy end to your argument here, Villanueva! If you've nothing worth saying, then you've no need of your tongue...come, let me relieve you of it and be done with your blithering idiocy!"

"Best watch your own tongue, Jocard," warned Ammand, drawing his scimitar and holding it at the ready above his own head. "Nothing but empty words have spilled from your lips this morning!"

"I offer the _Pearl_, o exalted one," broke in Jack, looking far too amused by what was happening around him for Elizabeth's liking. "The fastest ship in these waters, as you well know..."

"'Tis _I_ who offers the _Pearl_," hissed Barbossa, leaning his knuckles on the table and narrowing his eyes at his bitter rival. "She ain't yers to be bandyin' about, not today and not e'er again!"

"No, don't the two of you start," moaned Elizabeth, her head falling forward in despair. It was too much. How could she hope to put forth a defence of any kind when all her energy was consumed with keeping the members of the Brethren Court from killing one another?

"That's an old tune you're singing, mate, and I for one have grown tired of hearing it," growled Jack. "Who had her when you came to fetch me from the Locker, eh? I believe you left your ship scattered in pieces on the sand and it was left to me to rescue you and all your slimy little friends."

"If it weren't fer me comin' and findin' ye, still ye'd be sailin' them trackless seas!" bellowed the older pirate, clutching the hilt of his sword as his temper boiled over. "Should've taken what t'was I needed from ye and opened ye up, gullet to gut, right there upon the shore!"

Words ceased to have any meaning at all for Elizabeth in the midst of the verbal explosions erupting from all sides. Trying to outscream them would do her no good at all and although Barbossa had halted a similar outburst with a well-timed gunshot the day prior, she had little reason to believe they'd extend her the same kind of respect. The descent into petty bickering infuriated her but her anger brought forth a calm, cold resolve. It was a day to fight, not to talk.

She looked at Tai Huang and jerked her head, indicating that he should follow her. There was no time for this ridiculous infighting; she could better use the opportunity to ensure that the _Empress_was ready for battle. In the few minutes it took the rest of the pirate lords to notice that she was leaving, she and her lieutenant had nearly made it to the doorway.

"Where do you go, _king_?" spat Jocard, the contempt in his voice clear. "Have we frightened you away? Perhaps you leave to take tea before we all die!"

A hush fell over the room as Elizabeth turned, drawing herself straight and meeting Jocard's hostile glare. "I go to war," she answered evenly. "I'd rather face Beckett alone than stand here any longer and listen to the rest of you braying like asses as the enemy closes in on us!"

She stalked back towards them, reveling in the deep offense she saw on most of the faces before her. Only Sri Sumbhajee looked secretly amused. "Tread carefully, _ma chère_," warned Chevalle, the threat implicit in his tone. "You should t'ink about who it is you are speaking to…"

Elizabeth laughed bitterly. "When I first arrived, I thought this was to be a gathering of the most bloodthirsty, merciless and accomplished pirates in the world. Recent experience, however, has shown me that instead, you're just a herd of panicked old mules, scared silly by the wolf that lurks outside the barn door. And like mules, you can think of nothing to do but kick up your heels and run in circles while the wolf takes you down, one by one."

"Yet we remain lethal enough to end your pitiful life if we so choose, Captain Swann," said Mistress Ching, her eyes as flat and dead as a shark's. If the old adage about females of the species often being the more deadly was true, Elizabeth decided that Ching was a woman who typified the saying.

"That's true," Elizabeth replied, feigning indifference although she was not oblivious to the dangerous nature of her approach. "Why stop there, though? If we're going to make Beckett's job easier for him, we can hack one another to bits now and be done with it. If you and the rest of my esteemed colleagues around this table are too stubborn…too stupid…to admit that we must work together, then it's pointless to speak of strategy or assets. We're finished before we've even begun."

Ching shot up out of her chair. "I will not be disrespected by a…a CHILD!" she shrieked, pointing an accusing finger towards Elizabeth.

"You forget your place, whore!" hollered Jocard, kicking his chair back out of the way and advancing quickly on Elizabeth, his teeth bared and his dagger's edge catching the light. Before either she or Tai Huang could draw a weapon, a shot rang out and Jocard's knife was sent twisting through the air. The Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean clutched at his mangled, bloody hand, his eyes bulging in disbelief.

Acrid smoke trailed lazily from Barbossa's pistol as he strode over to stand at Elizabeth's side. "Seems that ye be the one as fergets hisself," he snarled, tucking the muzzle of his weapon back into his belt. "Ye must keep to the Code, same as us all...and the Code says that 'tis 'Lizabeth Swann as leads. Or perhaps yer wantin' to call on Teague and discuss yer misgivins' with him."

As much as she appreciated Hector's chivalry, Elizabeth immediately understood that he'd done her little good in the eyes of the other captains. She angrily shoved her way past him and stepped around the table until she was face to face with Jocard. She tilted her chin up at him and narrowed her eyes. "If you ever cross me again," she whispered harshly, "you'll wish that it was Teague you had to deal with."

In one swift motion, she snatched his injured hand by the wrist and slammed it hard onto the tabletop. He had barely let out the first gasp of pain when she tore her own knife from its sheath and stabbed the dagger through the shredded palm of his hand, burying the tip deep into the table's surface and pinning him securely in place. Jocard wailed with a fury that echoed through the hall as Elizabeth slowly sauntered back to her place at the head of the table.

For a time, only stunned silence greeted her show of ruthlessness. Then Sri Sumbhajee began a high-pitched giggling that started several of the other captains laughing in turn. Despite the nausea swelling in her stomach with realization of the horror she'd committed, Elizabeth managed a bleak smile in response.

"I am believing," tittered the rotund little Indian, "that the dispute over leadership has been effectively settled."

Even Jocard was grinning, albeit in a rather rueful, pained way as he tugged the knife from the table and wrapped his mangled hand in a silk scarf proffered by Mistress Ching. There was new reverence on the faces of those gathered, with the exception of Captains Barbossa and Sparrow. Jack appeared flabbergasted, his eyes darting time and again from Elizabeth's face to the smeared puddle of blood on the table. Hector simply seemed angry, though the object of his displeasure was unclear.

"We respectfully await your orders, our king," said Ammand. "We shall follow you into battle with pride."

Elizabeth stood straight and clasped her hands behind her back, all the better to hide their trembling. "We haven't enough ships in our fleet for two seperate attacks," she announced decisively. "We'll form a single line, with the _Black Pearl_ as our flagship. Tai Huang shall captain the _Empress_...and I shall command the _Pearl_."

Both Barbossa and Jack whipped their heads around, the audacity of the statement clearly shocking them. "The hell you will," laughed Jack. "I'll be damned again if I'll allow..."

"Agreed!" interjected out Barbossa, his mouth thin with indecipherable emotion. "The ship be hers!" It was Elizabeth's turn to be surprised at his quick concession.

"Hector," began Jack, holding out his hands in supplication, "you can't be serious about letting..._her_...take the ship. I don't doubt that you've seen a side of Lizzie that I've yet to witness, but I can't see how that might possibly justify..."

"The last man who challenged me," Elizabeth interrupted once she realized the path Jack's words were taking, "lived to tell the tale. The next man might not be so fortunate. Need I remind you..."

Jack's hair fell around his face as he bowed his head in resignation. "Yes, yes...I know. 'King'. Fine. But it's a long journey from claiming the title to captaining a ship like the _Pearl_ in battle. We shall see if you're as adept at handling her as you are in handling the ignoble Captain Blackheart, _Miss Swann_."

"Make ready to sail at the top of the hour," Elizabeth said, ignoring Jack's ill-intended commentary. He knew that she'd spent the night in Hector's company; there was no doubt about it. And though she puzzled over how Jack might have found them out, now that it was in the open, the 'how' seemed irrelevant. "And prepare your men for what lies ahead. Some of the finest sailors crew the ships in Beckett's fleet, but there's not one among them who could best ours in spirit and ferocity."

The pirate lords began to file out of the hall, muttering amongst themselves and glancing knowingly at Elizabeth. Barbossa and Tai Huang flanked her as though their very presence could protect her from the embarassment to which Sparrow had subjected her. As Jack tried to duck around them and avoid her, Hector's hand suddenly shot out and he grabbed Jack by his loose, dark locks, abruptly stopping him and causing Jack to cry out in affront.

"Just in case yer of a mind to alter events to suit yer own ends," Barbossa whispered menacingly as he brought his cutlass to bear, causing Elizabeth to squeak in surprise and jump back from the arc of the blade as it flashed past Jack's head. At first she thought that Hector had done it put a scare into the other man as payback for besmirching her reputation. It took a moment for her to notice that the little beaded braid – the one with which Jack had secured a battered piece of eight – had been sheared from Jack's head and dropped into Hector's broad palm. There wasn't so much as a nick on the bandana upon which it had rested, so true was Barbossa's aim.

Jack watched as Hector tucked the little plait of hair away. "What care I for that trinket, eh?" said Jack, rubbing the spot on his scalp where a tuft of extremely short hair now stuck straight up. "I don't think so close a shave was strictly necessary."

Barbossa smirked unpleasantly back at him. "I be thinkin' that ye'd shed no tears should I fail in me quest, Jack. Would leave ye free and clear to misappropriate me ship…and anythin' else ye might have had a thought to claim. Just collectin' a bit of insurance, is all."

Jack's kohl-lined eyes narrowed in anger. "_My_ ship, you mean. And what you stole from my person just now is no guarantee of success. There's more than one amongst us as would gladly see you sent back to hell this day, mate. You might be wise to watch your back."

The smile faded from Barbossa's lips and the air around them almost seemed to grow colder. "I might be sayin' the same to ye."

Jack threateningly pointed his finger at Barbossa but said nothing more before storming from the room. Hector angrily started after him but halted in his tracks as Elizabeth laid her hand gently on his arm. He looked back down at her and seemed about to speak when he realized that Tai Huang had remained at his captain's side and was glaring at Hector suspiciously.

"Tai Huang," Elizabeth said, taking her first officer by the arm and leaning confidentially close. "As I said, you are in command of the _Empress_ today. It falls upon you to ensure that we are ready for what we are about to face. Our success rests with you...and should we win, I shall name you captain of the _Empress_ as a reward for your loyalty."

The offer was enough to distract her first officer from his concern over Barbossa. "This is your promise?" he said in surprise. "What of Sao Feng's title?"

"I am king only for so long as the Brethren are gathered," she assured, knowing that the burden that came with it would be lifted from her shoulders by battle's end, one way or another. "The title of Pirate Lord of the South China Sea, the ship, the crew...I swear that all will be yours, as it should have been from the beginning."

The tremulous emotion on his face touched her deeply, unexpected as it was. Tai Huang backed up a foot and bowed deeply, his hands clutched together in front of him. "Before I accept such an honour, I must prove myself worthy...and we must be victorious! Although you have chosen to sail the _Black Pearl_ into battle, I respectfully request that you allow a contingent of men from the_Empress_ to serve as your personal crew. I am obliged to see to your safety, after all."

"As you wish," Elizabeth agreed, bowing slightly in response. "Now I ask that you leave us and carry out your duties. I have matters I need to discuss privately with Captain Barbossa." There was little use in pretending that Tai Huang hadn't figured out exactly how private their conversation might turn, but she attempted to hold on to some semblance of decorum regardless.

Whatever Tai Huang's feelings were on the matter, he chose to keep them to himself. He inclined his head and turned on his heel, leaving her and Hector alone in the cavernous hall.

"Yer recklessness could have cost ye today, girl," he chided quietly. "I might not always be there when ye find yerself in dire need; ye must learn to have a care fer yer own well-bein'."

"I had no choice but to take a stand and well you know it," she answered crossly, her back still to him. It was so much easier to concentrate without having to look at him; just his presence set her senses humming. "I had to earn their respect by proving myself every bit as brutal as the rest of them. Or at least I was on my way to earning it before Jack revealed our secret." She whirled around on him, more galled than anxious now at the thought of her humiliation. "Did _you_ tell him...about us, I mean?"

Hector's jaw stiffened. "T'weren't me, _missy_. Maybe ye weren't so stealthy as ye thought when ye stole from me bed in the wee hours of the mornin' and crept back to yer own bunk under cover of darkness."

She blushed deeply. "If I'd stayed..." she began, but he didn't give her an opportunity to completely finish the thought.

"Then what?" he barked, his hands tightening up into fists. "Then others would have known of the shameful way ye'd spent yer night? Or were ye worried that they'd think less of ye in knowin' who it was that ye spent it with?"

"You're putting words in my mouth!" Elizabeth gasped, shaking her head. "I never said any such thing."

"Ye seem awful concerned about the opinions of a bunch of scurvy marauders," he added contemptuously. "Or maybe 'tis not what they think that counts so much as the fact that _ye_ think less of yerself for layin' with one like me. Who was I to claim such a prize...is that what's in yer head?"

"No! Hector, no!" She protested as she reached towards him. He stepped away, keeping her at a distance. "It's not like that at all!"

"Them as gathered about this table don't give a whit how ye care to pass yer time or with whom," Hector sneered. "Ain't no sense of propriety to offend here, 'Lizabeth, unless it be yer own. If anythin', all Jack did was show 'em that ye've a powerful ally. Or mebbe t'would be more correct to say, had."

Elizabeth felt like someone had run her through, so great was the agony in her chest. How could a morning that had started out with such hopeful promise have spiralled into such an ugly scene? "Do you truly believe what you're saying?" she asked, a painful lump in her throat making it impossible to speak above a whisper. "That I'm capable of such duplicity?"

Hector turned away from her. "I think ye regret what ye gave me. I think yer ashamed that ye took me as yer lover; elseways, ye'd not care what Jack or anyone else thought of it."

"You're wrong. You're wrong and you've belittled everything that we shared," she choked out. Elizabeth struggled to contain her tears; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd reduced her to a blubbering mess.

"I've a ship to attend to," he said over his shoulder. "If ye'll excuse me, _Yer Majesty_. I'll be off to the _Pearl_ and makin' sure that yer crew and mine stand at the ready fer yer orders."

The echo of his boots thundered through the hall, loud as cannon shots as he strode away and left her alone with her heartache and bafflement.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

The _Pearl_ cast a long dark shadow over the choppy water, blotting out the sun as the stern of the gig bumped against the hull. Without bothering to toss up a line, Barbossa grasped the first rung of the ladder and clambered up to the deck, determined to distance himself from both Elizabeth and William Turner, if only for a matter of minutes.

The journey back from the narrow sand bar had seemed interminable, made more so by the chilling silence that persisted between himself and the girl. He'd wordlessly accompanied Elizabeth and Jack on the brief voyage to meet with Beckett, unwilling to trust that Sparrow would play his part as it had previously been written. The wretch's unpredictability was the wild card in the dubious hand they'd been dealt; as much as Hector would have preferred to stay on board the _Pearl_, he had to ensure that Jack didn't start revising history in such a way that Hector ceased to be a part of it altogether.

Of course, what Jack would do and what he wouldn't do was entirely out of Hector's control now. As he'd expected, Elizabeth had handed Sparrow over to Jones in exchange for Turner and as much as Hector might have protested, he knew that she wouldn't be dissuaded. In the end, he'd settled for serving as a sullen witness to the confrontation and keeping his thoughts to himself.

It had never occurred to Barbossa that in bringing Elizabeth back and giving her a chance to change her fate, he was laying the groundwork for Jack to do the very same. And there was no doubt in Hector's mind that Sparrow had a plan in mind that would involve taking possession the _Black Pearl_ rather than the _Flying Dutchman_. Jack's scheming rankled to be sure, but nothing else wounded him so deeply as the sudden reversal of Elizabeth's affections.

He could have forgiven the girl for fleeing his bed before he'd even awoken, but she'd cut him to the quick when she'd flushed with shame at the thought that others might have learned of their tryst. Passionate and loving she was behind closed doors, to be sure, but despite her assurances to the contrary, the dawn of a new day shed a harsh light on her conscience that she couldn't bear. He wasn't worthy enough to be acknowledged as her lover and the betrayal was one Hector could not accept with good grace.

Over the course of a few short hours, despair had gradually given way to anger and he'd honed the edge of his rage against his pain. Whereas Elizabeth's death had once left him wishing the same fate for himself, Hector now was determined to reclaim his legacy and live whatever years were left him with unapologetic vengeance and vigour. For too long had he been behaving like some simpering, lovesick buffoon...there was no dignity in begging, no reward for pretending. Elizabeth's choices and the consequences thereof were hers alone and thus no longer his concern.

He had the _Pearl_, Sao Feng's chart and crew enough to man the ship; he could put the whole miserable lot of them to his rudder and never look back. All that he needed worry about was surviving the day, and he'd be damned if he'd allow anyone – _anyone_ – to stand in the way of that end.

"We'll use the _Black Pearl_ as a flagship to lead the attack," he heard Elizabeth saying to Turner as they scaled the gunwale and jumped down onto the deck behind him.

"Will we now?" Hector crossed his arms and smirked grimly as Calypso made her way up from below deck.

Unlike the previous ritual, the goddess was not bound but instead walked of her own accord up the stairs, Pintel respectfully guiding her by the hand and Ragetti carefully carrying the train of her gown so she'd not stumble on the uneven wooden steps. She regarded the crew with haughty disdain as she took her place amongst the unwashed masses.

"Barbossa! You can't release her!" gasped Turner, halted in his advance as the crewmen drew their weapons and pointed them at the young man's head.

"We have to give Jack a chance..." interjected Elizabeth, the sting of Barbossa's double cross conveyed clearly by the hurt in her voice.

"Apologies, _Yer Majesty_!" Hector crowed sarcastically as he rounded on her. "Too long me fate has not been in me own hands." He leaned in closer, letting her see the cold resolve in his eyes. "No longer." Yanking hard at the cord around her neck until it snapped, he at last held in the key to Calypso's freedom. He could ill afford to give Sparrow any kind of chance; if there was one certainty in the world, that was it.

Elizabeth pursed her lips and he saw her eyes begin to glisten, but he would not allow himself to be moved by her emotions. It was a weakness to show mercy and tenderness. No more would he indulge himself in uncharacteristic kindness.

"Have you assembled a party for me then, Hectah?" Calypso demanded, lifting her chin and glaring at him.

"More like a send-off fer ye, 'though one far more modest than be yer due," Hector answered, turning his back on Elizabeth and bowing deeply before the goddess. "But I beg yer patience as I make good on the bargain we struck and free ye from yer mortal form."

There was a need for a much different approach than Barbossa had taken the last time he'd set about the same task. As the crew had made ready the _Pearl_ for the fight ahead, he'd paid Calypso the courtesy of a visit in the brig. The moment he laid eyes on her in that dank and dim hold, she'd made it abundantly clear that she'd not tolerate his disrespect, and even less so in front of the crew.

True it was that she was vulnerable…by stepping back into the past with the rest of them, she'd been rendered mortal once again. What Hector knew, however, was that the original bargain struck between the two of them still held and he was obliged to release her should he wish to avoid the very worst kind of death. Moreover, she remembered not only the past but also the future, and he understood that once she was restored to her supernatural form, the beliefs and worshipful awe of the men surrounding her would replenish her powers in such a way that she'd prove nigh unstoppable. He for one had no intention of being a target for her wrath – at least, not any more than he'd been before. Deference remained the best strategy when dealing with eldritch creatures, and doubly so with this fickle deity.

Ragetti stood beside the goddess and held aloft the primitive bowl that contained the other talismans. Hector strode over and dropped both Jack's nappy braid and Sao Feng's bauble into the mix.

"You're making a mistake, Captain!" shouted Turner. The lad had bunched his hands into fists as though ready to leap into the fray, armed guards or not.

"Nay, young Master Turner. I be fixin' one!" Hector snapped.

"No," Elizabeth said quietly to Turner. "Leave him be; he's right."

Bootstrap's son was taken aback, almost as much as Barbossa himself. "Why...what on earth would make you think so?" stammered the boy, the confusion on his face shared by more than one man on the deck.

She shook her head and seemed uncertain. "I...I don't know. But I'm positive. It's what has to happen."

For a heartbeat or two, only the squawking of gulls answered her revelation, and she glanced around nervously at the men around her, shrugging her shoulders before dropping her eyes to the deck. What she'd said, however, rattled Barbossa enough that he almost missed the question that Gibbs was asking him.

"What's that?"

"I asked, be there some sort of rite or incantation?" Gibbs repeated, a gleam of excitement in his eye at the thought of yet more fodder for his tall tales.

"Aye. Items to be brought together...done. Items to be burned," Hector went on, taking a smouldering fuse from one of the crewmen as Gibbs poured rum over top of the trinkets. The girl's words had left him feeling uneasy and puzzled and he had to force himself to focus on the task at hand. "And someone must speak the words, 'Calypso, I release ye from yer human bonds'."

Elizabeth was staring at him, her mouth parted slightly in surprise at the simplicity of the ceremony. "That's it?"

"Hey!" burst out Pintel. "It's me as said that first!"

Hector fixed him with a glare that had Pintel mumbling an apology and shuffling back out of the way. "T'was said it must be spoken as if to a...lover," Barbossa said gruffly, fighting the urge to glance over his shoulder at Elizabeth as the last word left his lips. He'd not allow himself to think of her that way, not any more.

The men smiled and chuckled knowingly, but above the rabble he could have sworn he heard Elizabeth sigh sadly. Despite his vow to cast aside all sentiment, the faint sound tore at his heart all the same. Hector took a deep breath and moved up to stand at the goddess's side. There was a job as needed doing and he'd not be distracted from it.

"Calypso," he whispered roughly, caressing her cheek with the back of his fingers until she met his eyes. The goddess laid a dainty hand over his heart and pressed herself against him, an enigmatic smile gracing her face as she did so. Hector leaned close as though for a kiss, but instead closed his eyes and breathed against her lips, "I release ye from yer human bonds."

"Oh, Hector…" Elizabeth gasped softly.

"Elizabeth?" Turner asked in stunned disbelief. "Since when..."

Any further questions about Elizabeth's unprecedented familiarity with Barbossa were forgotten as contents of the bowl ignited into oddly writhing flames and the dish hovered on its own before the dark-skinned Obeah woman. Calypso's eyes fluttered closed and she sucked in shuddering breaths of the violet-tinged smoke, her arms spreading out at her sides and her head thrown back as though caught in a moment of corporeal ecstasy.

"Tia Dalma!" Turner cried desperately, struggling against those restraining him. When the goddess ignored him, he said more softly, "Calypso."

The bowl, by now filled with nothing more than cinders and ash, fell to the deck as Calypso turned her eyes to the lad. "When the Brethren Court first imprisoned you, who was it that told them how? Who was it that betrayed you?" Turner hissed.

A smirk tugged at one side of Calypso's black-stained lips. "Do you t'ink, William Turnah, dat you have somet'ing to tell me dat I is not already knowing? Do you dare believe dat my mercy can be bought with such small coin? Dere is nuttin' as happens dat I is not seeing. Too tricky by far it is to keep secrets from one such as I!"

Turner's jaw dropped open in astonishment before he closed it again, his expression abashed as he glanced surreptitiously at Elizabeth for her reaction. Calypso laughed gaily and the sound of it boomed around them as she suddenly began to grow taller, the strain of her increasing weight snapping deck planks and causing the ship to list unsteadily from side to side.

"That ain't what she said last time!" screamed Pintel indignantly, yanking on Ragetti's shirt to drag him out of immediate danger.

"Well, ye can't be messin' with the threads of time and not have 'em unravel some, I guess," yelled back Ragetti, attempting to be heard above the roar as he scurried away in tow.

Members of the crew screamed out in terror, babbling in at least a dozen panicked languages. They retreated as far as they could on the cramped deck, but there was no place on board that would offer any of them an escape.

Turner stumbled back, pulling Elizabeth with him as he stared in shock at Calypso. The priestess stood high as the mizzen now, gloriously naked as she towered above the frightened men at her feet, her hands upon her hips and her face tilting up to the pale sun.

The boards creaked ominously as Barbossa pushed past the others to kneel at the goddess's feet and bowed his head respectfully. Calypso owed him nothing and was likely inclined to grant the same. It was far more than he'd expected or deserved that she'd sent him back in the first place as he attempted to save Elizabeth's soul; asking for further favours would probably not endear him in any way, especially when she figured out that he'd likely squandered his chance to reclaim his love.

"Calypso, I come before you as a servant, humble and contrite. I have fulfilled me vow, and now ask your favour. Spare meself, me ship, me crew, but unleash your fury upon those who dare pretend themselves your masters," Hector said slyly, winking at her, "or mine."

Her smile widened in response and she winked back at him. _"Todos los tesoros del mar no puede traer de vuelta un momento perdido!"_ she chuckled, her deep voice ringing through the air around them. _"No deseche mi regalo tan rápido, Barbossah!"_

Before he could react to what she'd said, her body exploded into flocks of shore birds, cascades of multi-coloured fishes and waterfalls of sparkling seawater. The mist from her transformation painted a shimmering rainbow in the air around them as the echo of her laughter faded and all that could be heard was the distant screeches of the gulls and terns as the birds made good their escape from the battleground.

"Blimey!" coughed Flaherty, doused completely and looked as ragged as a rat pulled from a pickle barrel. "There's no understandin' women at all, mortals or goddesses! Always with the grand exit. Guess we thank our lucky stars t'weren't crabs agin."

Soaked to the skin and with his sodden feathers hanging pathetically from his now limp hat, Barbossa stepped up to the gunwale and peered apprehensively out over the water. Pintel came stumbling up beside him, eying at his captain furtively. "What'd the witch say, sir? That didn't sound much like last time, neither."

Hector tightened his hands upon the battered wooden rail, his jaw set. _"All the treasures of the sea cannot bring back one lost moment. Do not discard my gift too quickly, Barbossa!"_ The message, delivered in his father's tongue, was a mite too personal to share. That was especially true as he wasn't yet prepared to admit that they'd likely ventured back to the past for naught, at least insofar as Elizabeth was concerned. "She didn't condemn us to the black, watery depths again, if that what ye be askin'. All the same, I don't believe we can be countin' on her assistance. Like as not, she'll set us the same odds as before and forced we'll be to play it through to the end yet again."

As though to second his sentiment, the wind whirled up and caught the dark sails of the Pearl, causing the canvas to snap sharply and rattle the riggings. Turner moved to stand at his side. "Guess your plan wasn't so well thought out as you imagined, Barbossa," he sneered. "Now we don't even have her aboard to use as leverage with Jones."

"She might still help us – who's to say?" Elizabeth interjected angrily, roughly pulling the boy around to face her. "But even without Calypso, we can still fight!" Turner gave her an inscrutable look and pushed her hand away impatiently, shaking his head.

"We've an armada against us, and with the _Dutchman_, there's no chance," Gibbs sighed heavily, looking back at the silhouettes of enemy ships on the horizon.

Barbossa scanned the skies above them, noting the darkening clouds and swirling winds. "Only a fool's chance," he muttered to himself, turning about and inadvertently catching Elizabeth's eye. From her startled expression, he knew that she'd been close to saying the same thing. It was her as had originally said it, so no surprise there.

"Don't ye think, Cap'n, that we might be better off retreating to the Cove and try holdin' up for a bit?" Gibbs suggested hopefully. "Confident I be that we can get along, despite Jack's grim prediction. At least I'd rate our chances better with the Brethren than with the Company."

"As soon as we turned to flee, they'd pick us off from behind and we'd be done fer," Hector stated firmly. "No, we've no choice but to face 'em now while we have the strength in numbers, cannons at the ready and swords drawn."

"So you've doomed us all, then?" blurted Turner, drawing his knife and sinking the blade deep into the wood of the gunwale in frustration. Eyes wide and teeth bared viciously, he spat, "Ever since we began this journey, you've taken us from bad to worse!"

"Watch yer mouth, boy!" cautioned Hector, his hand dropping to the butt of his pistol in warning. "The very day we started out, ye've cloaked yer true purpose from them as have called ye friend and in so doin', placed all of us in danger of our very lives. Ye've worked against us at every turn and have turned a blind eye to the harm ye've inflicted , thinking that the ways justify the means. Pretend that your quest be noble if ye so choose, _William Turner_, but understand that ye've not fooled me! Yer no better a man than any of us and fer sure no better than yer _father_!"

Turner's eyes blazed as he whipped his sword from its scabbard and brandished it in Hector's face. "My father was an honourable man, sent to his fate on your say-so, you bastard! He stood up to nefarious traitors and paid for it!"

Elizabeth's jian flew up and knocked Turner's blade to the side. She stepped in between the two men and laid her hand on top of Hector's before he could draw his gun. "I'd say that Barbossa and his crew have cleared that debt, Will. And 'though your father might have objected to the mutiny that saw Jack lose the _Pearl_, don't forget that Bill Turner proudly called himself 'pirate' and claimed just as many innocent lives in the name of greed as the men with whom he sailed! Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'd say you have an equal or greater share in leading us to this unfortunate circumstance. For the sake of one man, you've put me…" she swallowed hard but then lifted her chin stubbornly, "you've put all of us in a position where we must face impossible odds."

Slowly Turner let the hand holding his weapon drop, clearly wounded by her words. "Elizabeth, I made a promise! I swore that I would see my father freed..."

"At any price?" Elizabeth asked quietly. "Is that what you were going to say?"

Understanding dawned on young Turner and all the fight went out of him. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what else to do." He sheathed his sword and leaned on the gunwale, his head hanging. "I never wanted to hurt you...I love you more than I can say."

Another rumble of thunder punctuated the lad's plaintive declaration, and the first spatters of rain began to fall from the tumultuous sky. "S'much as I hesitate to break up such a touchin' scene," Hector spat tetchily, "I be thinkin' that our attention is better served elsewhere now. The enemy awaits, as ye might remember." He couldn't claim the girl as his own, but he was ill prepared to watch another man fawn over her...especially as he was dead certain he knew what was to occur during the battle.

Elizabeth seemed about to comfort Turner, but Gibbs stepped in front of her and drew her attention away from the sad tableau. "Miss Eliz...that is, Captain... King... Swann," he wheedled uncertainly. "Ye know I've stood by ye on your way to find Jack. Helped ye bring him back and I'd do it again, but there's no sense to be throwing our lives away now we've got him! I'd wager me own mother that Jack Sparrow has a plan of his own to be sure he'll see the day through to the end, and he'd not want any different for the rest of us."

Other members of the crew had gathered around Jack's first mate, nodding their agreement. Elizabeth gazed around at them, narrowing her eyes. "What are you trying to say, Mr. Gibbs?"

"I'm sayin' that it's all well and good to be brave, but it's just plain foolish to squander our lives in this way. The odds aren't in our favour, young miss, and if you had sailed as many years as have I, you'd not be of a mind to die for the sake of provin' a point of honour. Won't make Norrington or yer father any less dead; it'll just make the rest of us more so."

Hector saw the familiar indignation on Elizabeth's face and knew that Gibbs had stepped over the line, much as he had so long ago. "This is how you feel?" She glared around at the rest of them. "Is this how you all feel?" There were a few sheepish blushes and a great deal of attention paid to their feet by the few dozen men who'd surrounded Gibbs.

"You will listen to me. Listen!" Elizabeth climbed atop the gunwale and glared down at the humble men beneath her. Strands of sodden hair blew wildly across her face as the storm began to grow, but she ignored everything except for the faces turned up towards her.

"The Brethren will still be looking here to us, to the _Black Pearl_ to lead, and what will they see? Frightened bilge rats aboard a derelict ship? Cowards who shirk their duties and scurry like roaches when a lamp is lit?"

Elizabeth straightened her back, glowering at the enemy ships that waited for the pirates to make the first move. "You could have lived as privateers, beholden to the company and to your king. Little more than slaves and doing nothing you've not been granted leave to do. But you wanted more than that...you wanted to set your own course, choose your own fate. And so you have, and here we are today...standing against the one man who would see that way of life disappear forever! They think we'll run – they think that with the first shot across our bow, they will see us crumble before them and beg for mercy. But do you know what I see? I see free men, and freedom."

"And I know in my heart that when they advance upon us, laughing up their sleeves at the poor wretches they believe us to be, the last thing the enemy will see is the flash of our cannons, they will hear the ring of our swords and they will know what we can do!" She paused, breathing deeply, her eyes wild and her words catching in her throat, and Hector remembered the exact moment that his love for her had been born. His heart began thundering despite the bitterness that nested within his chest. "By the sweat of our brows, and the strength of our backs, and the courage of our hearts, victory will be ours!" she went on, locking her eyes with Hector's and gazing through to his very soul as she echoed his words of challenge, "Gentlemen, hoist the colours!"

"Hoist the colours," came the whispers, growing louder with each man who repeated the cry. "Hoist the colours!" Crewmen leaped to retrieve Hector's flag, knotting up the rope in preparation for hoisting it high upon the mast.

"The wind's on our side, boys, that's all we need!" sang Gibbs, won over by the passion of Elizabeth's speech.

Holding tight to the line, Elizabeth shouted to the closest of the ships, "Hoist the colours!"

Battle cries were taken up across the water and a fierce din from each of the Brethren ships could be heard rising over the waves as one by one, pirate flags were raised and stretched out into the driving wind. After a moment, though, the fury of the storm built up and the final piece of blue sky disappeared from above them as the thunder rolled, drowning out the last jubilant voice as the sea turned rough. The clouds opened up and the rain began in earnest, drenching everyone who hadn't already been doused by the water of the goddess's metamorphosis. Despite the layers of clothes he wore, Barbossa shivered as the dampness seeped through to his skin and the wild winds chilled him further.

It was eerie watching parts of the past run themselves through again while at the same time, small details here and there had been altered through his actions and those of the others who had stepped back through the cursed mirror. The storm seemed no more than a setting in a familiar play, a mere backdrop to their story; the rage that had long ago fuelled the squall no longer existed. That didn't make it less terrifying for those who were now caught in its clutches, but without the malice aforethought, it seemed somehow diminished.

Not that one would be able to tell it by the way the _Pearl_ was being tossed on the waves, Hector noted, the crests catching and carrying her as they began their advance on Beckett's fleet. Water poured up over the deck now and the spray whipped into the faces of the men as they struggled to keep the ship afloat and on course. Sparrow's man Cotton had the wheel, but Barbossa knew the strength of the older sailor was not up to the unnatural tempest Calypso had unleashed. He was tempted to force the codger aside and take charge, but he stubbornly held back. Elizabeth had assumed command and the call was hers to make. Let her take the wheel and see what she could do, if she so desired.

As though sensing his thoughts, Elizabeth stumbled up the stairs and over to where he stood, Turner close on her heels. As she approached Hector, she impatiently waved the whelp off. "Will, lend a hand to Cotton! I must speak with the captain!" Reluctantly, the young man left them alone and staggered over to the helm as the ship rolled beneath his feet.

"Man the capstan...keep that powder dry!" cried Gibbs, barely making himself heard above the cacophony. "Saints above! Off the port side, men! It's a maelstrom!"

Cries of fresh alarm were raised amongst the crew and panic flashed on Elizabeth's face. "Captain…Hector! Please, I must say something before all is lost!" She reached out and snagged Barbossa's sleeve, holding him fast so he'd not be able to ignore her plea.

"Ain't the best time fer such!" he barked at her, half-heartedly trying to pull away.

"No! You have to know the truth…there may be no other time!" she insisted, her grip tightening. Rain streamed down her face and plastered her hair against her head, and she suddenly seemed every bit as young as he knew her to be. The ache in his chest grew deeper to see her so distressed, but there was little he could say to change what had occurred between them. When he didn't respond, she took it as her cue to continue.

"I didn't mean to hurt you this morning. Yes, I was angry when Jack revealed what had transpired between us, but not for the reasons you think." A crash of thunder caused Elizabeth to jump, but she swallowed back her fear and went on. "What happened with us…the way you looked at me when you touched me…afterwards, I felt as though there had to be more there than just physical desire. But when Jack shared his crass remarks with the others, he made something special seem filthy, cheap and meaningless. Last night should have belonged just to you and me; it was too precious to lay bare like that."

"Elizabeth…" he said, coming around to face her full on as his heart sank. He had been a fool; there was no way around it. He'd been too quick to judge, the very thing of which he'd so hastily accused the girl. How close had he come to wasting his last chance? Calypso had warned him of the very same, yet it took a frantic entreaty from Elizabeth Swann to get him to see the light.

She clenched his other arm desperately and gazed intently into his eyes. "I am not ashamed of what we shared, but I never want anyone thinking that I only came to you in order to satisfy some base, animalistic urge." The waves pitched the _Pearl_ to starboard and as Elizabeth lost her footing on the wet planks and fell against him, he slipped his arms around her waist to keep her safe. Although Hector couldn't see them for the downpour, he was sure there were tears running down her cheeks. "If I regret anything," she cried, "it's that I left you this morning without telling you what last night meant to me or how much I wish we could have had more!"

"Fergive me, girl, fer allowin' me temper to best me!" He pulled her close and clung to her tightly, intent on kissing her by way of showing profound regret for his stupidity. Before he could do so, a huge wave crashed over them and the _Pearl_ rolled to her port side, sending them sprawling across the slippery deck. When they at last disentangled themselves from one another, Hector saw that the force of the water had thrown both Turner and Cotton far from the helm, and the wheel was spinning wildly out of control as his ship and crew were sucked closer towards the monstrous vortex.

The dark water churned before them, more grim and menacing with every turn. Each inch the ship gained on it saw the funnel sinking further and further until there was nothing at its core but blackness, nothing awaiting them but the frigid depths of the unforgiving ocean and the bleakest prospect of horrific death.

"Oh my God…Hector!" Elizabeth choked, struggling to regain her feet. "We need you at the helm!"

He helped her to a stand beside him and grinned down at her. "Aye, that be true!"

Barbossa charged over and grabbed a firm hold of the wheel, his muscles working and straining against the brutal force of the heaving ocean. He looked to where Elizabeth stood, dripping wet and smiling warmly, and he winked at her. Despite the desperate circumstances, hope was born anew in his heart and he intended to make sure that they'd have more – much more – than what they'd found in a solitary night. "Brace up the yards, ya cockeyed deck apes!" he hollered, the rekindled spark of passion warming him all the way to his scarred and battered soul. "Dyin' is a day worth livin' for!"


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

If hell really existed, Elizabeth thought fleetingly, surely it could be no worse than what she and her shipmates now faced aboard the _Black Pearl_.

The sharply stinging rain was almost enough by itself to drive them to their knees, but it was made so much worse by the roar of the maelstrom, the endless flashes of lightning and the crimson splatters of blood...of the mortal men who fought so valiantly, and of the otherworldly creatures under the command of Davy Jones. Despite the gale force winds, a reek hung over the ship that was reminiscent of slaughterhouses and fish markets both, and the odour coating Elizabeth's nostrils nearly caused her to gag.

Agonized shrieks of pain rose from all around her and there was no way to tell which came from pirates and which came from Beckett's men. United they were in their suffering, their stinking blood mingling on the boards at her feet before frothy, salty waves washed the evidence of their mortality away. The mutated sailors from the _Dutchman_ bled too, but they mended nearly as fast as they were wounded, and their injuries seemed only to spur on their relentless hatred and fury.

The aching muscles in her arm throbbed terribly and her sword seemed too heavy to lift, even as Elizabeth knew she had to do so or die. Her hard leather armour had saved her time and again from attacks on every side, but she knew her flesh would be covered in bruises wherever the flat of a blade had found its way past her parries. She had no right to complain, though, not when so many had already fallen.

Hector had stayed at the helm as long as he could, but once the incursion began, it was his talent with a sword and not his skill as a sailor that they needed desperately. Elizabeth heard him loudly cursing their attackers as he hacked at straining tentacles, serrated claws and more common man-made weapons, and it was the hoarse timbre of his voice alone that gave her hope. So long as he fought on, she would too, and pray to whatever gods were still listening that somehow they would both survive the day.

Cannons boomed around her and splinters from the hull and gunwale flew past her face as she drove her blade between the ribs of another man. Elizabeth tried not to flinch at the squelching sound her jian made as it sank through skin and muscle, the shocked look freezing on her opponent's face as his heart ceased to beat and she tore the blade back out to strike out at yet another. There was no room in her soul for compassion – there was only fear and rage, and she had to shield herself with those emotions or be lost to despair.

From time to time, she could hear the rasp of Will's breath above the clang of steel. They fought back to back, a necessity to prevent an unexpected attack from behind. Whatever she might feel for him – or no longer feel, as was inescapably the case – she owed him a debt of gratitude for the lessons he'd insisted on giving her so many months before they'd embarked on their journey to rescue Jack. Although she grew wearier with every thrust, she was able to react without conscious thought as the enemy advanced. Whether her well-practiced technique would be enough to save any of them against those who couldn't die was unclear.

Both the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ were caught in the momentum of the massive whirlpool, circling one another around the watery chasm as they shot over the waves at a dizzying speed. Sour bile burned its way up Elizabeth's throat as they spun ever faster, and it was all she could do to keep from heaving the contents of her stomach onto the slick, bloody deck as they twirled around the threat of eternal oblivion.

"Elizabeth!" cried Will, and she turned to see him fighting to hold some deformed fish-man at bay. In unison, they plunged their swords through the chitin-encrusted torso of the foe, knowing as they did so that at best, all they could expect was to slow the creature down.

She whirled to find her next target, but Will grabbed her firmly by her arm and tugged her back. "Elizabeth," he gasped, his eyes wide with panic but also with something much softer, "What did you say to Barbossa before the fight?"

There was only a moment for her to register disbelief at his question before they had to stave off another attack. "Why on earth would that possibly matter now?" she snapped, tearing herself away to repel the next sword-wielding assailant while Will did the same.

"I _must_ know...where do your loyalties lie? With the pirates or with me?" he demanded, dodging to avoid being run through by another morphed being from the _Dutchman_. Elizabeth realized that Will had watched her while she pleaded her case to Hector; what he was asking her now, though, meant that he'd neither heard nor understood the gist of the conversation itself.

With a roar, two of Beckett's men fell upon them, and Elizabeth struggled to force her attacker back far enough that she could impale him on her long, gore-smeared blade. She put a boot to the man's chest as she tugged her weapon free again, watching him fall at her feet. "Barbossa believed I had wronged him," she panted as Will snatched her forearm once more. "I wanted to set it right before it was too late."

Will stared at her, heedless of the mayhem around them, gauging the truth of what she said. There was no lie to find, though, unless it was a lie by omission. She'd told him all she felt he was entitled to know. As for her loyalties…

"I want to do the same, then," he blurted, his voice pleading. "I want things to be right between us again. Please…I love you. I know I've hurt you and although it might not have seemed like it at times, you have always been first in my heart. Will you marry me?"

What she felt for Will was no longer love, but the memory of what they'd once had with one another meant that his words struck her to the core. It would have been easier to hurt the man if she hated him, but the pain she knew she would cause would rest heavily on her conscience from this moment forward. She pulled away from him again to disembowel another monster, unable to suppress a gasp of disgust as green-tinged intestines oozed from the creature's belly and squelched across her boots.

When she turned back again, Will awaited her answer, the hopeful expectation on his face making him look like the eager boy who had once won her over. She began to reply but a tangle of men – and what had once _been_ men –spilled between them and they were separated once more, forced to fend off a flurry of flashing sabres as thunder roared around them and brilliant purple-tinged lightning lit the scene. Elizabeth was knocked to the deck and in the midst of the scuffle, a malicious boot to the ribs stole the breath from her. She crawled away as best she could, cringing in agony as she dragged herself out from beneath the brawl. Crouching against the meagre shelter offered by the capstan, she fought to draw in air and tamp down the pain in her side as curtains of rain poured overhead.

"Elizabeth!" hollered Will, slashing at the men around him until he'd literally carved himself a path for himself through the fray. He stumbled over and fell to his knees beside her, cupping her chin so he could see her face. "Have you been hurt? Are you bleeding?"

She shut her eyes and shook her head. "I just…I need a moment. I took a kick, is all." Even touching her ribs through her armour caused her to wince. In all likelihood, something had been broken, but there was little she could do about it now.

"Put your arm around me. Do it!" Will demanded. When she was slow to comply, he roughly grabbed her by the hand and draped her arm behind his neck, holding her firmly in place as he hoisted her up. She cried out against the sudden sharp pain as Will hauled her past the worst of the fighting and over to the dubious seclusion offered in the shadows beneath the starboard stairwell. As he propped her against the wall, Elizabeth bit back a groan.

"There's no time for this," she gasped, shoving Will's hands away when he attempted to pull her heavy leather garment open in order to examine her injury. "We're short of men as it is. They can't afford to do without us. Please, help me tighten my belt to keep my ribs fixed in place – that will have to suffice for now."

"You're hurt! If you go out like this, you'll prove easy prey," growled Will. He took her by her upper arms and squeezed. "I'm begging you, Elizabeth. Please stay here where you'll be safe. I don't know what I would do if I lost you…"

She looked away at his words, unable to meet his eyes, and Will's voice trailed off. "It's too late, isn't it?" he whispered in sudden realization. "You're gone already."

Elizabeth nodded reluctantly and met his distressed gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmured, fighting back tears borne of both regret and physical suffering. "So much has changed. We're not the same two people we were back in Port Royal. I wish it could have been different."

Will turned and rubbed his face with his hands. "I saw it happening and didn't know what I could do to stop it. Christ, I can't believe this..." His voice broke and he slammed his fist angrily against the wall. "Did you ever really love me?"

"Yes!" she cried, reaching out to touch him and then pulling back her hand as she thought better of it. "Oh, Will…you know I did! If none of this had taken place, we might even have been happy for a time. But when our lives took a turn for the worse, we couldn't be there for one another in any of the ways that truly count. That isn't something we can fix, it isn't anyone's fault. It just…is."

He nodded awkwardly but didn't reply, instead staring out as if oblivious to the deafening riot before them. His muscles in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth and she could see his eyes were rimmed in red as he tried to fight back tears. Elizabeth could think of nothing to say that would soothe his shattered heart and so she remained silent, fumbling with the clasps on her wide black belt and tightening the straps enough that she'd be able to return to battle and carry on. She felt raw inside at having inflicted such misery on someone who had once been so precious to her, but to let him believe they still had a chance would have been crueller by far.

She tentatively took a deep breath, testing the belt's support. There was a brief, hot flare of pain but it was certainly not enough to keep her from taking her place with her fellow pirates. Daring a last, heart-wrenching glance at Will, she reclaimed her sword from where it had fallen at her feet. "I'm sorry," she repeated softly and stepped out from beneath the flight of stairs.

Before she could move any further, Will's hand shot out and snagged her around the wrist in a hard, insistent grip. "You owe me the truth, Elizabeth," he said coldly, glaring at her. "Is there someone else?"

She paused, wanting to spare Will additional pain, but she knew she couldn't betray Hector again by denying their bond. "Yes," she answered flatly, refusing to look away or be ashamed.

"I had it right the first time, didn't I?" he answered, his lip curling contemptuously as he loosened his hold on her. "Despite every selfish, underhanded, conniving thing he's ever done, you persist in loving Jack Sparrow."

Elizabeth's eyes widened in surprise and she shook her head. It was far too early to hope that it was love, but all the same…how could Will have possibly missed it? "No, not Jack!" she exclaimed, more emphatically than she intended. "Barbossa!"

* * *

Some subconscious part of Elizabeth registered the look of dumbfounded disbelief that crossed Will's face, and the fact he'd stumbled off towards the gunwale to swing over to the _Dutchman_, still speechless from her revelation. Even if she'd wanted to stop him from boarding the ghostly vessel, though, it would have been impossible as she suddenly found her legs strangely immobile.

The instant that Hector's name had left her lips, a barrier burst within her mind, and her brain was flooded with an overwhelming cascade of visions and emotions. Her sword clattered to the deck and she dropped to her knees, shaking uncontrollably as countless, baffling images flashed before her eyes and a deluge of powerful feelings swept through her, leaving her nearly senseless.

Elizabeth clutched at her temples with both hands, squeezing her eyes closed tightly as she gasped in astonishment at the mental barrage. Her thoughts tumbled faster than she could mark them and she inched back to huddle beneath the stairs, just barely aware enough to understand that she was in danger and vulnerable while trapped in such a fugue.

She'd gone stark raving mad, there was no question…how else could she explain what she was seeing, what she was feeling? There was a sense of being trapped in another person's dreams…or perhaps nightmares, as some of the images and feelings proved terrifying while others were provocative to say the very least. Moaning, she curled into the darkest corner of the stairwell and tried to ride out what had to be hallucinations.

"'Lizabeth!"

Someone was urgently calling her name but the voice seemed so very far away that she didn't bother to attempt a response. Even if she answered back, who would be able to hear her above the uproar…and what assistance could they possibly offer? She shook her head, angry tears pouring over her cheeks as she desperately tried to dislodge the perplexing scenes playing themselves out in her mind's eye...

_Elizabeth was aboard a ship, sleek and white...the sails were black, just like those of the Pearl, but new and crisp as they caught the breeze...her heart pounded as she ran for her life, unfamiliar squeals and bleats sounding all around her as gunshots rang out...Hector's lips skimmed warmly over her neck as she stood before a mirror, wearing the wine-coloured gown he'd given her that first night aboard the Pearl...floating beneath the warm, blue water, she watched a scuttle of crabs like those belonging to Calypso moving in circular pattern on the sea floor...pain wracked her body as she lay in Hector's arms, watching a single tear track down his blood-spattered cheek...she was falling...falling backwards...too shocked to scream, desperately reaching out to try and stop herself..._

The thunder rolled above her...at least, she thought it was thunder at first. "'Lizabeth!" hollered Hector, urgent desperation in his voice. It hadn't been the squall she'd heard; it had been his boots as he'd stormed down the steps. He was only a few feet away, she realized, seeking her out in the midst of the chaos.

"Hector!" Elizabeth screamed as loudly as she could, pressing her fists into her eyes to try to halt the bewildering delusions. "Oh please...!"

And then he was there, her lover...her champion...kneeling in front of her and gathering her close. "I have ye, lass! I heard yer call! 'Lizabeth, look at me!" Hector demanded frantically, sweeping her damp hair out of her face.

She did as he asked, but the moment she caught sight of his worried blue-grey eyes, an explosive jolt of recognition surged through her body, causing her to jerk stiffly in Hector's arms. Her limbs trembled and she sucked in deep, shuddering breaths as she bunched his coat into her hands and clung to him tightly, staring up into his face in wonder. "Hector...my God!" she sobbed. She remembered...

_…struggling to breathe, feeling cold…so cold….so tired…_

"Save her now," pleaded Hector. " Whate'er bond ye want from me...whate'er promise I can render, whate'er service I can give to ye, 'tis yers fer the askin'. Just...please..."

"If she dies now...dies here...den her soul is caught forevah in dis loop," warned Calypso. "But if you take her back t'roo da portal, her will have a chance to find her way. To change dat destiny."

Anguish and fear, the pain in her heart far worse than that caused by the bullet…she couldn't allow him to make such a sacrifice…"You would lose...your immortality..."

"I'd rather face life and death as an ordinary man than live a thousand lifetimes without ye"…a kiss against her forehead, Hector's lips burning hot against her cooling skin… "I love you…"

"I will remember…I will…"

Elizabeth remembered everything.

It had worked! The magic of the mirror had worked...Calypso had told the truth! Elizabeth was herself again – two halves of the whole, reunited and returned to the man she loved. Overcome with happiness and relief, her throat tightened painfully and she began to weep.

"Have ye been hurt? I swear I'll cut to bits the one as harmed ye..." Hector snarled, his teeth bared and his eyes wide.

"No! I mean, yes, but it doesn't matter!" she cried, the words spilling from her as she yanked on his soaking wet lapels, bringing him closer to that she could rest her forehead against his chest. The pain from her ribs faded as her jubilation grew. "Listen! It's me! It's _Elizabeth_!"

"Aye..." he said, pulling back and squinting at her in confusion, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of her tearful exclamation. "An' who else would ye be? Ye can't stay here – come and I'll get ye to safety. Ye must have taken a knock to the head to be ravin' so..."

Despite the dire situation in which she knew they were embroiled with Beckett and Jones, Elizabeth laughed through her tears, smiling joyfully even as Hector became more alarmed at her behaviour. "Don't look at me like that...I'm not crazy! Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Yer 'Lizabeth Swann...an' I be Hector Barbossa," he crooned with exaggerated patience, hauling her to her feet as he rose. "Not sure that ye noticed, but we find ourselves a little busy at the moment...perhaps we'd be better served havin' this discussion _after_ the war."

Elizabeth laughed again – she couldn't help it. "You don't understand..." she said, but further words froze in her throat when she looked past Hector's shoulder and saw a dark shape closing quickly on them, one scaly hand holding a broadsword at the ready. It was another sailor from the _Flying Dutchman_, an abomination with quivering spikes jutting out all over its body and head.

Reacting instinctively, Elizabeth whipped Hector's sword from his scabbard and shouldered him aside, ferociously thrusting the sword beneath the creature's chin and up through its skull before it could swing its weapon. As Jones' minion fell, she'd yanked the blade free only to shove it with both hands back through its throat, watching pitilessly as it collapsed on the deck and writhed miserably at her feet, its inhuman hands frantically wrenching at the blood-coated cutlass.

Hector stared at her with frank amazement and, if she wanted to flatter herself, with something akin to respect. "Nicely dispatched, missy."

"I might not always be there when you find yourself in dire need," Elizabeth said with a triumphant grin, serving his own words of that very morning right back to him. "You must learn to have a care for your own well-being…_my Captain_."

It was Hector's turn to reel in shock. "Yer captain? 'Lizabeth...the mirror? Are ye sayin'...?"

"When Will asked me to marry him, I knew I couldn't – not after last night," she answered earnestly, stepping close to lay her hands on his chest. She let her fingers play over the serpent necklace as she looked up into Hector's face. "He accused me of loving another...and of course he was right. That was when I called out your name, and everything came rushing back at me. Don't you see? I chose _you_, Hector, even without knowing our past. That was the key – that was the decision I needed to make to find my way back to you!"

"I didn't dare hope," he said hoarsely, cradling her face in his hands and searching her eyes for reassurance about the miracle they'd been granted.

"It's true," she replied blissfully, sliding her arms around his neck. "I'm here..."

"And I'll not have ye leavin' me again," he vowed, capturing her in a kiss.

The rain and the spray of the sea made their lips slick, but the droplets of water did nothing to cool the heat of his mouth as it met hers. The kiss was forceful and passionate, totally unrestrained and exactly what Elizabeth wanted from him. He was a pirate, after all – an outlaw and a rogue, and it was only right that he take what he wanted in whatever manner he so chose. She revelled in his strength and gladly gave herself over to his will.

All around them, the battle raged on, but whether through the divine intervention of Calypso or some sorcery of their own making, they remained untouched, lost in the depth of their need and love. The power of the kiss swept through her, so all encompassing that it felt as though Hector was touching her in the most intimate of places. She whimpered helplessly into his mouth and invitingly parted her lips further. With a groan, he submitted to the temptation she offered and his tongue glided softly over hers in a gesture of tenderness that served only to intensify her unbearable longing.

There was no telling how long they might have carried on or how far they might have gone had they not been shaken back to their senses when the masts of the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ violently collided. Elizabeth was jarred out of Hector's embrace, grabbing his outstretched hand at the last minute to prevent herself from being thrown to the deck. The _Black Pearl_ teetered above the dizzying black abyss, the two ships so close now that she could see Davy Jones and Jack Sparrow up amongst the rigging. Jack dangled dangerously above the whirlpool from the yardarm, with only a tenuous grip upon a small chest – and Jones's writhing appendage –keeping him from plummeting to a churning, watery grave.

"Captain Barbossa!" shouted Marty from his perch on the bunt of the mast. "The wheel!"

Hector and Elizabeth both looked up at the helm where Flaherty valiantly attempted to keep two of Beckett's men at bay as Cotton tried to catch hold of wildly spinning ship's wheel. Unless Hector could hold the rudder steady, they'd likely end up dashed to bits by the force of the rough, circling waters and not see the outcome of the war at all.

"Go!" she yelled, and gave Hector one last quick, desperate kiss before releasing him. He retrieved his cutlass from the twitching body of the spiked monster and took the steps two at a time, slashing his way past whomever and whatever happened tried to stop him.

"Out of me way, ye poxy cur!" he roared as he drew his pistol and shot a slimy, slithering eel-man between the eyes, laughing scornfully as he sent it tumbling over the gunwale and into the ocean. Her heart swelled with pride to as she watched him cut swiftly through the melee. He was truly back in his element and where he belonged again. And at last, she felt as though the same could be said of her.

New shots rang out from the _Dutchman's_ guns and Hector ordered his men to return fire, making the whole of the _Pearl_ shudder beneath Elizabeth's feet as the twelve pounders let loose their loads. The crack of breaking beams forewarned of falling lumber, and she darted to the port side of the ship, deftly avoiding the wreckage as it rained down upon the men doing battle. Casting her gaze back up to the _Dutchman's_ riggings, she managed to pick out Jack, swinging around the main mast on a line with his long coat billowing behind him and his legs kicking frantically.

A hefty length of empty rope thumped heavily against the side of the _Pearl_ and Elizabeth jumped atop the gunwale to grab hold of it. To help Jack and Will defeat Jones and take possession of the heart, she knew she should make her way over to the _Flying Dutchman_. A glance backwards made it clear that both her own crew from the _Empress_ and the men of the _Pearl_ were gaining the upper hand; perhaps sensing that the real fight was back aboard their own ship, most of Jones' men had returned as though heeding some silent, indecipherable call. That was where the need was greatest, and yet she still hesitated.

"Go!" Gibbs yelled at her, pulling tight on the line to hold the capstan in place.

Elizabeth bit her lip and stared across the abyss to where the bow of the _Dutchman_ dipped and sent up plumes of grey-white spray. She had gone last time to lend her sword to the cause, but what had really led her to do so was her love for Will Turner. She had thought that her rightful place was at his side, despite the events that had followed…

"Miss Elizabeth!" Gibbs bellowed. "They'll not give you much time – our men can only hold them back for so long. What in blazes be you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

In a sudden, heart-stopping moment, the choice was made for her. She heard the scream of the cannonball long before she saw it and threw herself down onto the Pearl's deck just as it passed overhead. The portside stairs and a good chunk of the banister surrounding the quarterdeck exploded upon impact, and spears of dark wood blew outwards in every direction – including towards the helm. She threw up her arm, shielding her eyes from the deadly splinters hailing down around her.

"Hector!" Elizabeth shrieked, growing frantic when she was unable to see anyone standing on the deck above. Her dive to the boards had reignited the blazing pain in her side, but she forced herself to her feet regardless and staggered over to what was left of the flight of stairs. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest that she could hardly breathe. This couldn't be happening…not now! Not after they'd had to endure so much just to be together!

She ran around to the starboard stairs and clambered up as quickly as she could, her fractured rib shooting pain through her torso every time she inhaled. Shards of wood lay everywhere and she stumbled over them, tripping and falling hard on one knee. Hissing between her teeth, she stood again and hobbled over to the helm.

The wheel itself was intact but unattended, spiralling so quickly that the blurred spokes were almost invisible. Men and Jones' creatures alike were splayed out across the boards, most of them torn and bleeding but alive. Hector had been thrown back against the mizzen with a six-inch long chunk of wood buried in his thigh, in almost the exact same place he'd been shot by Marilyn. Blood trickled down his leg and his teeth were bared in an agonized grimace, but Elizabeth felt weak with relief that he was alive at all and not lethally wounded. As she watched, he attempted to stand on both feet, a deed make doubly difficult given the way the _Pearl_ was listing badly towards the ravenous maw of the maelstrom.

"Stay where you are!" she cried, sliding ever closer as the _Pearl_ continued to tilt. "I'll take the wheel…"

"You'll do no such thing!" Hector bellowed at her, his eyes wild and angry as he struggled to find a handhold and regain his feet. The glare he gave her was enough by itself to stop in her tracks. "'T'is spinning far too fast –ye'll get yer arms torn clean off! Stand back, girl – I won't tell ye a second time! Yer to obey me orders and well ye know it!"

The ship lurched again, tilting perilously towards the howling vortex. "Cap'n! The _Dutchman_ is takin' us down!" Flaherty barked, clasping the edge of a fractured beam to pull himself up.

For a moment, Hector stared hard at Flaherty. All at once, Barbossa's expression lit up as inspiration dawned upon him. "Cotton! Grab the end of that there timber –you, Flaherty, take a share as well! Yer to shove it down beneath the handles and jam the wheel! Do it!" Hector managed to limp over to the jagged remnants of the banister and call down to Ragetti. "Make quick with the chain shot, Master Ragetti, or 'tis the locker for us all!"

"Aye, sir!" Ragetti replied, scurrying away with Pintel to find the chained cannon balls they'd need to sever the _Dutchman's_ topmast.

On a count of three, Flaherty and Cotton shoved the beam beneath the wheel, breaking off at least half a dozen of the handles before the wheel caught and held. "Now!" shouted Hector, bracing himself and grabbing a firm hold of the wheel. He nodded to his crewman, signalling them to yank the shredded wood loose so he could steer them clear.

"Do it!" screamed Elizabeth, leaning over what was left of the balustrade to catch Ragetti's attention. "Fire!"

The powder detonated and the shot arced skyward, the balls swinging end over end until they found their target. With an ear-splitting crack, the uppermost mast of the _Dutchman_ was snapped off and Hector's expert touch guided the _Pearl_ up and out of the deadly whirlpool. As they sailed towards calmer waters, Elizabeth reluctantly glanced back to watch as the black, watery crater swallowed up what remained of the notorious _Flying Dutchman_...all but a mottled grey collection of sails and frayed lines that had caught the wind and lifted two passengers from the doomed, spectral vessel into the clearing sky.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

It took all of Barbossa's restraint not to reload his musket and shoot Joshamee Gibbs directly between the eyes, so irksome was the expression of stupefied incredulity on the man's face.

Mister Gibbs wasn't scratching his head over the fact that they'd survived what should have been a hopeless battle with the most nefarious and deadly foe of their era...nor was Jack's first mate taken aback by seeing the _Flying Dutchman_ suddenly surface from beneath the waves. He hadn't even blinked an eye when Barbossa's monkey and his oily namesake had clambered aboard after lofting to safety like sailfish upon the thermals. No, it was seeing Elizabeth attempt to distract Hector with a stirring kiss while she yanked a chunk of jagged wooden from her captain's thigh that had utterly robbed Gibbs of his senses.

It wasn't until Jack meandered up to the quarterdeck that Gibbs was moved to break his dumbfounded silence. "Jack!" he muttered, the corner of his lip twitching as he watched Elizabeth pick what splinters she could out of Hector's thigh. "Miss Elizabeth...she was...that is, she was _kissin'_ Cap'n Barbossa! Like she really _meant_ it, too!"

Jack took off his hat and shook water from its brim. "Aye, Mister Gibbs, a deeply troubling sight to be sure. The way I hear tell, though, lovers tend to do that quite a lot."

Elizabeth paused in wrapping strips of cloth around the deep gash to gaze coyly at Hector through the fringe of her eyelashes and grant him a lascivious grin. "Any chance I get," she purred loudly enough for Gibbs to hear. "That and much more."

"Miss...have ye lost yer...? No, that's..._lovers_? Ye can't be tellin' me...them two?" sputtered Gibbs in disbelief, shaking his head vehemently as though to undo what he'd seen with his own two eyes.

Had his leg not been aching with such throbbing intensity, Hector might have hobbled over to where Gibbs stood and beaten the man unconscious. As it was, he settled for rolling his eyes and sighing heavily while Elizabeth tended to his wound.

"But...but what of Will?" pressed Gibbs.

The playful smile faded from Elizabeth's face. "What _of_ Will, Jack?" she asked, suddenly serious. "What happened on the _Dutchman_?"

Sparrow cast a glance towards the ragged fluyt approaching from off the _Pearl's_ larboard side. "He stabbed the heart just as Jones would have run me through. Saved me life, so he did, knowing he'd then have to forfeit his own. Fortunately, Will shares my desire to see Lord Cutler Beckett thoroughly repaid in kind for his actions and so has agreed to lend us assistance to that end."

Elizabeth stood, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "And… Will's heart?" she asked tremulously.

Jack shuddered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the memory. "He...he cut it out himself, using that blasted knife of Bootstrap's. And all the while, Jones' men were standing around him, chanting, 'part of the ship, part of the crew' as they waited for him to finish off the job. I thought I'd best take my leave before they decided perhaps their undead captain could use an undead first mate."

Gibbs' eyes bulged out and he paled slightly. "Cut it out _hisself_? What kind of madness would possess a man to do that?"

"No," Elizabeth said, shaking her head as horror dawned on her face. "I thought...if I took a different path, then he would, too. Now he faces an eternity of servitude as captain of the _Dutchman_..."

"Cap'n, pardon fer interruptin'..." interjected Flaherty, approaching them cautiously.

"Aye?" Barbossa and Sparrow responded in unison. Hector glared pointedly at Jack before turning his attention back to his man.

"The _Endeavour_ is comin' up on us fast, sir. What be yer orders?"

Jack whirled around and glared over the deck of the Pearl. "Full canvas, Mister Gibbs!" Although he remained hopelessly perplexed about nearly everything going on around him, Gibbs was finally prompted to action by virtue of his captain's order and made his way down the stairs to rally the crew.

"Aye! Full canvas!" Hector echoed, compelling Flaherty to follow close on Gibbs' heels. Barbossa struggled to his feet and winced as pain lanced through his leg. There'd be no more supernatural healing for him and the nature of this latest injury would likely see his limp return for good. It was a small price to pay, though, for what he had gained in return. He took a firm hold of what was left the _Pearl's_ wheel and barked at Jack, "Same as last time, then?"

Jack looked over his shoulder and nodded. "Beckett is nothing if not predictable. You think you can manage the helm in your present condition, _Methuselah_?"

Hector huffed. "I be a better captain old an' lame than you be on your best day, ye mouthy whelp! I'll do me job – ye best take care of yers!"

"Most assuredly," Jack said. He flashed Barbossa a wicked, lopsided grin before turning back to oversee the attack.

It was then that Hector noticed Elizabeth standing stiffly by his side, her eyes searching the water, but her mind clearly on something other than what awaited them on the waves. "'Lizabeth," he said quietly, reaching down to take her hand in his.

"Ten years was bad enough," she uttered despairingly, squeezing his fingers back. "But knowing that he has lost all hope, that's he's trapped forever between the worlds of the living and the dead..."

"Young Turner _did_ take a different path, girl. The first time, he had no say in the matter – command of the _Dutchman_ was thrust upon him. Today, he chose that destiny fer hisself. Freed his father as he promised, but kept Jack from being slain, too...and when it comes down to it, most likely the rest of us. T'was a noble sacrifice and ye mustn't diminish it by grievin' his decision."

Elizabeth nodded solemnly and he reluctantly let go of her hand so that he could steer the _Pearl_ on its course towards Beckett's comeuppance. Despite what he'd said, Hector knew that she'd always carry a measure of guilt over the boy's dark fate…he could see it on her face as she stared at Turner's shadowy silhouette on the wheel of the _Dutchman_. There'd be time enough after the battle to help ease her sorrows; for now, he needed to direct all of his attentions to blowing Cutler Beckett into bite-size chunks for Calypso's crabs.

Cries of alarm from the _Endeavour_ rose over the waves as the _Pearl_ and the _Dutchman_ quickly closed the distance to their enemy. The sound of their panic was like an intoxicating elixir, particularly for Hector's crew. It had been far too long since they'd fought for anything more than their own amusement and they'd caught the scent of blood in the air. Their teeth were bared and their eyes glinted with remorseless anticipation. In the midst of the excitement, little Jack scrambled up the back of Hector's coat and perched on his master's shoulder, wide-eyed and screeching his own primitive bloodlust at the enemy ship.

As the _Pearl_ and _Dutchman_ approached, some of the Company's less courageous men threw themselves overboard in hopes of escaping the inevitable reckoning. Certainly in their hearts, the East India crew knew better than to even try to flee, but perhaps the thought of a long, cold and watery death was preferable to fiery oblivion for a cowardly few. The Blackhearts shouted insults and curses at them, firing their pistols into the water and laughing sadistically.

"Captain?" Gibbs called out nervously. They had sailed within range of the _Endeavour's_ guns and Hector braced himself at the helm, half expecting that this time around, Beckett would have the sense to at least attempt a salvo. Over one hundred black holes stared benignly throught the shutters at the pirate vessels, though, and Barbossa knew that Beckett's end was at hand.

Jack narrowed his eyes and smiled in vicious triumph. "Fire!"

Sparrow's order was immediately echoed by everyone on the _Pearl's_ quarterdeck but their voices were quickly drowned out as the world exploded before them. The air was suddenly thick with shattered wood and torn canvas, rope and steel, smoke and blood, raining down around them. Each gun sounded a death knell for every soul remaining aboard the _Endeavour_, the relentless booming of the cannons like the toll of some great hellish bell.

Those men left aboard the doomed ship now abandoned their posts with all haste, and only those already dead or well on their way to becoming so remained behind. Cutler Beckett was the exception, barely visible through the haze and wreckage as he summoned some dignity amidst the pandemonium. It was almost as though he had determined that if he didn't acknowledge the attack, it simply couldn't be happening – all evidence to the contrary. Failure had clearly bewildered him or addled his wits, but Hector knew that likely wouldn't remain the case for long. Death had a definitive way of dissipating confusion.

Both Barbossa and Turner barely cleared their ships of the _Endeavour's_ bow when the flames finally reached her magazine and ignited the powder kegs within the battered vessel. A massive wave of heat and sound buffeted their craft from behind, the burst of warm air briefly filling their sails and propelling the _Black Pearl_ and _Flying Dutchman_ further towards the now-leaderless armada.

Perhaps it was that short burst of speed, with the threat of another attack, that ultimately frightened the enemy off…or maybe it was enough to see the once-mighty _Endeavour_, a first-class ship-of-the-line, collapsing in on herself and sliding silently beneath the briny depths. Whatever the reason, there was no question that the pirates had won the day. The voices from the renegade ships joined in a discordant but jubilant crescendo that carried across the water, nigh on loud enough to awaken the gods.

* * *

Distracted as he was by the chaotic revelry that had erupted on board the _Pearl_ following their decisive victory, it took Hector some time to realize that Elizabeth had disappeared from his side. Dodging congratulatory exclamations and increasingly inebriated offers of rum from his triumphant crew, he'd searched much of the deck before it occurred to him that she might simply have sought out a place of solitude and comparative quiet. As much as his leg hurt him, the spiritual wound she had sustained upon learning of Turner's fate went far deeper. Knowing her as well as he did, he was almost certain she had chosen to nurse her pain in private.

He found her in his quarters, sitting on the starboard window ledge with her knees drawn up to her chest, gazing blankly out the whorled windows at the empty horizon. The boots, black leather armour and intricately embroidered coat she'd worn during the battle had been abandoned on the floor in a sodden heap, and she was clad in only a simple black shift. Her hair framed her face in a tangled, honey brown halo and her nose and cheeks were smeared with greyish soot, making her appear as bruised and battered as he imagined she felt. Although Elizabeth graced him with a soft smile when the door closed behind him, her eyes were sad and haunted.

Words seemed inadequate at that moment and so rather than speaking, he opened his arms wide in silent invitation. Stifling a sob, she slid off of the sill and quickly closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck and clinging to him as though she feared being torn from his embrace. Hector had seen her fight, had witnessed her courage and ferocity firsthand throughout the day, but now she seemed as frail and vulnerable as a child.

They stood together in silence for a time, Barbossa stroking her back gently as the celebrations outside grew ever more boisterous. The carousing would doubtlessly continue unabated as they slowly limped their way back to Shipwreck Cove to carry out repairs – although the _Black Pearl_ had fared better than the _Endeavour_, she hadn't come out of the fight with the _Dutchman_unscathed and they'd need to careen her for at least a fortnight before she'd be fit to sail any real distance at all. Before they could depart for the pirate fortress, though, there was one last matter that needed addressing.

"'Lizabeth," he said quietly, reluctant to cause her more distress but knowing he had no choice, "Ye must go ashore and face Turner fer the final time."

She drew back suddenly and stared at him wide-eyed. "I can't! My God, how can you even ask that of me? It was bad enough to see him like that once; now, I can't even offer him the promise of a future."

Hector took hold of her hands and held them to his chest. "Unless ye make yer peace with the lad, there'll be none fer us. He might ne'er understand yer choice, but ye can't let him leave with naught but bitterness in his heart."

She pulled free of his embrace and turned away from him, hugging her arms around herself. "As in the heart he tore out and stuffed into a wooden chest, you mean?" she gasped angrily. "There is nothing I could say to him now that he'd want to hear!"

Grasping her by her shoulders, he forced her around to face him. "Would ye have him end up like Jones, then? Hateful and wild with eternal rage, condemned to be another scourge upon the sea until the next man is left with no choice but to slay the monster and take his place? Ye'll not ever fergive yerself, my love, if ye let him go now without so much as a farewell. What life can we expect fer ourselves beneath the weight of such a burden? Ye know what I say to be true."

Elizabeth's head fell forward and she buried her face in her hands. "You're right," she rasped, her shoulders drooping in defeat. "I have to talk to him, but where do I even begin?"

"Ye must decide that fer yerself," Barbossa answered quietly, pulling her close against him again. He was relieved that she had accepted the unavoidable task but it pained him greatly to see her upset again. Had there been any way, he'd have happily taken the responsibility upon himself and spared her the agony. "Ain't right fer me to put words in yer mouth. Tell him the truth as much as yer able, though, and perhaps that will be enough."

She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. "Will you come with me?"

He kissed her dusty brow. Despite his misgivings, he was helpless to refuse her heartfelt entreaty. "I'll row ye ashore but I shall have to wait in the gig fer ye. Young Turner won't welcome an intrusion by the one he believes stole yer love away and I'll not give him the satisfaction of a confrontation. What ye say must belong to the two of ye alone, 'Lizabeth. I've no place in this."

*-*-*-*-*-*

It took a while for them to get underway after Hector signalled the _Dutchman_ of the need for a meeting. He'd disappeared beneath decks in order to assess the damage done to the hull, leaving Elizabeth with plenty of time to agonize over what she might say to Will that could possibly reach past the deep anger and rejection he was surely feeling. As hard as she tried, though, nothing she came up with sounded right.

As they rowed across the expanse, she sat with her back to the island so she wouldn't have to see Will standing there, anticipating her arrival. Each stroke of the oars in the water sounded like seconds counting down on a clock, and by the time the bottom of the small boat scraped against the sandy shoreline, her gut was tied up in painful knots and her legs so shaky that she was unsure she'd be able to walk the hundred yards to where Will waited.

Before Elizabeth disembarked, Hector grabbed her hand and gave her a sombre look. "Courage, girl. 'Tis no easy thing but it must be done. I'll have ye back aboard the _Pearl_ before sunset and then you an' I can put the past where it belongs."

She nodded wordlessly and tried to swallow back her nervousness. Hector's fingers were so warm and his touch so welcome that it took all of her fortitude to release his hand and step into the tepid, shallow water. She was still barefoot, unwilling as she had been to put her gore-spattered boots back on, and her feet sank into the fine, wet sand as she began her long walk down the beach.

For the first few strides, she kept her eyes lowered and watched the lapping tide splash over her toes. It wasn't long, though, before she could feel Will's gaze as she made her way towards him and she finally looked up, making contact with those familiar brown eyes she'd once found so irresistible. There was no warmth in them now, only ineffable sorrow and disappointment, and she hated knowing she was the cause.

A fresh, jagged scar cut crudely across Turner's chest and the shadows on his face were reminiscent of someone recently-deceased. He'd tied his long hair back with a kerchief, but strands of it had come loose and blew across his face as the breeze from the sea tickled the shoreline. Elizabeth came to a stop a few yards away, wondering who should speak first. Words utterly failed her so instead, she stood waiting for his recriminations and accusations to begin.

"This is my one day, you know, for the next ten years," he said quietly, looking away from her towards where the _Dutchman_ was anchored just past the shallows. "Despite everything that has happened between us, I'm grateful that I get to spend at least part of it with you."

"Oh, Will," she replied, the ache in her chest growing and her throat constricting painfully with unshed tears. "I never wanted this for you. What you've done…what you've given up…"

He shook his head brusquely. "You were right…what you said about me before the battle was true. I was so focused on hating Jones, hating Beckett – hating Barbossa, for that matter – that eventually, there was nothing _but_ hate. And the love that I had to give, the love I'd been given…it all ceased to matter."

"You're a good man, Will Turner," Elizabeth insisted, her voice thick with grief. She hesitantly took his hand and squeezed his strangely cool fingers. "You might have lost sight of it for a while but you proved yourself today through your actions. You sacrificed yourself so that others might live. I can think of no greater show of love than that."

Will gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yes, Calypso thought so, too. She said that mine was an unselfish gesture, done with no thought of personal gain. As a reward, she told me that at the end of ten years, if I can find another to take my place, she will set me free."

More capricious cruelty from the goddess, Elizabeth thought angrily. "What reward is there in a promise like that? Who would willingly take that responsibility from your shoulders?"

He hesitated and then looked down at her, his eyes softening with warm emotion. "My father has already agreed to do so," he informed her hopefully. "He told Calypso that he wanted to redeem himself for all his years of selfishness...for not being there for me when it really counted. He felt that the very least he owed me was a chance to reclaim my life."

What he left unspoken was Bill Turner's hope that Will might also have another chance to reclaim her love as well. Elizabeth let Will's hand slip from hers and took a step back from him. "I can't begin to tell you how happy and relieved I am that you won't be bound to the _Flying Dutchman_ for eternity, Will," she said hesitantly, "but that doesn't change anything between us. I'm sorry, but I love Hector. My future is with him."

"Can you even hear yourself?" he demanded, his voice rising and his expression suddenly darkening. "This is _Barbossa_ we're talking about! A murderer and a mutineer! Thieving, lying pirate scum! Do you forget what he used to be? When you lie with him, do you not remember the way his flesh sloughed off of his body, or how his bones gleamed beneath the moonlight? I know he's always had designs on you, but what in God's name do you see in him?"

Her own rage began to simmer but Elizabeth knew that no good would come from being drawn into a fight. She took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. "I won't defend him to you; nothing I could say to you would change your very firm opinion. But there is much you don't know about him and much you don't understand about me. Suffice it to say that I know he is most worthy of my love and I can only hope that during whatever time is granted to us, I can prove myself worthy of his as well."

"I can't believe this!" he spat, stalking away from her as his hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. "After everything we've gone through, you would spurn me for a man who prides himself on his ruthlessness and brutality? What kind of life can he possibly offer you? A home, children, security...you act as though none of that means anything to you anymore!"

"That's the life YOU wanted!" she shouted back hotly, unable to keep her temper in check despite her honest efforts. "And you'd likely have seen me dressed in lace and bows, holding dinner parties and darning your socks before the hearth. But that's never what I wanted and that's not who I am! Hector may be an outlaw, but his is the life I want to share. _He_ is the man that I love!"

Will gaped at her in disbelief before stumbling a few feet away and dropping heavily to sit upon the sand. "You sound so certain," he muttered with chagrin, shaking his head. "I wonder what your father would say if he knew of your choice."

It was exactly the question that Norrington had asked her on the _Morgan LeFay_ and the coincidence made her smile faintly. She sank to her knees and sat back on her heels in front of the man to whom she had once been betrothed, waiting until he met her eyes once more. "He'd likely think that I'd lost my mind by taking up with pirates," she said with rueful humour. "But in the end, my father would want me to be happy, Will. He would want me to follow my heart and take as my mate a man who would cherish me as much as I cherished him. Life is so short, so precious. To accept anything less would be a terrible waste."

He lifted her hand from where it rested on her thigh, gently caressing her fingers as he fought for words. "Are you sure?" Will said hoarsely, his eyes moist. "Maybe once ten years has passed by, you will feel differently…"

His hope tore at her heart but she had to be honest. "I won't, believe me," she murmured gently. "But after ten years at sea, you _will_ have another chance to build the kind of life you always wanted for yourself...to find the woman who was meant to share that future with you. You must understand, though, that this has to be our goodbye. Please… you have to let me go."

Will nodded and released her hand, but made no reply. Elizabeth stood up and brushed the sand from her knees, a sense of calm gradually settling over her. Hector had been right; she had needed to do this, had needed the finality the reunion had given her. She could only hope it would eventually give Will the closure he needed, too. Turning away, she started back down the beach to where she knew Hector waited for her return.

"Elizabeth!" Will called out, and she turned with no little trepidation to see him jogging towards her with a chest in his hands..._the chest_, as a matter of fact. She paled and her blood ran cold at the sight of it, and Will must have seen, for he stopped short at the horror on her face.

"Will," she began in dismay, "I can't..." She remembered exactly what it had been like to stare at the chest, to hear the faint thumping of the organ but not having the nerve to look upon it. It was neither an experience she was keen to repeat nor one she felt it was right for him to expect of her.

"No, please, just hear me out," he pleaded. "I'm not asking that you keep it with you. But there is no one else I can trust and far too many people who would seek it out for their own gain." He held it out towards her. "If anyone could think of a safe place to hide it, it would be a pirate. If you and your...if Barbossa could find a place to bury it where no one else would think to look for it, then at least I'll have some peace of mind while I'm at the helm of the _Dutchman_. Elizabeth, I swear that it will be the last thing I will ever ask of you."

"But what happens after ten years?" she said, knowing that she was incapable of refusing him this one favour, distasteful though it was. She had, after all, loved him once."How will you know where to find it?"

He smiled enigmatically. "Rest assured, I won't need to track you down to retrieve my heart. No matter where I am, I can always hear it beating – calling out for me. When the time comes for me to rejoin the world, I will know where to go."

The thought of listening to a distant heart beat, every hour of the day, chilled Elizabeth through to her very soul. Regardless, she nodded her agreement and carefully took the ornate wooden chest from his hands. She could feel it trembling slightly with the slow but regular rhythm of its contents, and she shivered in mild revulsion at that with which she'd been entrusted.

When she looked up at Will again, tenderness had replaced the sorrow in his dark eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her chastely on the cheek, his lips soft but cold against her skin. "I wish..." he whispered longingly before drawing away.

"I know," she sighed sadly, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, Will Turner had vanished and the _Flying Dutchman_ was nowhere to be seen.


	35. Epilogue

**Chapter 35**

"If I thought that you might actually use that mirror, Jack, I'd kill you. Again."

From the way he jumped when she spoke, Elizabeth knew that Jack Sparrow had been oblivious to the sound of her footsteps as she'd descended the stairs. There was a brief flash of anger on his face as she stepped into the hold but he quickly tamped down his emotions as he turned to look at her.

"There you go again, Lizzie, assuming the very worst about me," he said, smirking disingenuously. He narrowed kohl-lined eyes at her and pretended to flick bits of lint off of his coat. "Shouldn't go about judging others by yerself, luv."

Elizabeth cocked the hammer on her Brown Bess, aiming squarely at Jack's chest. "I'm not stupid – I know exactly what your game is. Just remember this: the _Black Pearl_ belongs to Hector. You made a deal with Calypso and you must keep your word."

"That accord was brokered in a future that no longer exists," he answered slyly, pointing a finger at her. "We're back to a clean slate, as it were…and from my perspective that means that the ownership of the _Pearl_ remains a matter open to debate."

"Time is relative, is that what you're saying? You missed your calling, Captain Sparrow," she sneered, waving him away from the mirror with the barrel of her pistol. "You might have enjoyed a fine career as an attorney."

Jack stuck out his bottom lip and looked wounded as he circled towards the staircase, his hands raised in mock supplication. "Such cruelty is an unfortunate trait in one so young," he said sadly, shaking his head. "I'm thinking that Barbossa's been something of a negative influence on you."

"If you intend to renege on the bargain you struck, then at least have the courage to accept the consequences of your decision and face him like a man," Elizabeth hissed. Familiarity did, indeed, breed contempt – that lesson had become patently clear to her after four months at sea. Jack's questionable charm had worn thin on her over that time, fraying her nerves and shortening her temper further at the sight of him as each week passed. They couldn't reach Tortuga quickly enough for her liking and if they found him a ship of his own before they made port, so much the better.

Jack chuckled unpleasantly and crossed his arms. "Maybe you forget who it is you're speaking to. Pirates are rather better at subterfuge than honesty, darling. Something we pride ourselves on. No, I've no interest in sharing my plans with your dear Hector, but perhaps you and I could come to an… understanding of sorts that would benefit all parties in the end."

Elizabeth huffed in disdain. "You assume that you have something in which I'd be interested."

Smiling lazily, Jack sashayed towards her. "I might, at that. Instead of me using the mirror to go back – or forth, as the case may be – to make the _Pearl_ mine once more, how about this… you promise to give me my ship and in exchange, I shall hand over Sao Feng's chart. You remember – it's the one as shows the way to the Fountain of Youth."

She couldn't help but laugh at his audacity. "I don't know if you noticed, Jack, but I'm just barely past my twenty-first birthday since returning to this century. It will be a long time before I'm in need of any such rejuvenation."

Jack crooked an eyebrow at her. "That may be true. But can the same be said of your beloved captain?"

Slowly, her smile faded as the full import of his words sank in. "There's nothing wrong with Hector. He's in perfect health and let me assure you, as virile as a man half his age."

"You know, I believe I could have lived quite happily without ever picturing the latter," Jack made a show of shuddering in extreme distaste. "Regardless, I'll not argue the point...for now, what you claim is probably true. He did regain those ten years when we were first led to the Fountain. But you must know that as soon as he stepped back through that mirror, Lizzie, he began to age again. What with him having a twenty-five year head start on you, I simply thought...well, I'm sure I needn't say more."

Elizabeth slowly lowered her gun without fully realizing she was doing so. There was really nothing to argue about; Jack was right. Although Hector was strong and vigorous now, he was again mortal and as susceptible to the ravages of time as any other man. As young as she was, it was more than likely that she would live on for a good many years past his death, however and whenever that occurred. She'd be left to linger without him, suffering under the weight of her grief until the end of her days.

The thought shook her to the core and she stared at Jack with something akin to horror. For his part, he looked smugly satisfied at the reaction he had caused. "I believe we understand one another, then?" he purred, holding his hand out to seal the agreement.

"I...I can't! The _Pearl_ isn't mine to surrender!" she cried, shaking off her fear and raising her gun once more. "He'll never give her up...he loves this ship almost as much as he loves me!"

Jack withdrew his hand and tucked his thumbs into his belt. "Then you'd best be more convincing. What's more important, eh? Buying yourself a few extra decades with your one true love or inheriting his nasty old ship once he's gone?"

"You're beneath contempt," she snarled brusquely. Elizabeth skirted around him and started up the stairs.

He grabbed her arm and gripped tightly. "Sticks and stones, luv," Jack murmured as he pulled her close. "But let me assure you...one way or another, I'll be having the _Pearl_ back. At least now you've a chance to buy Barbossa far more time than he deserves."

She turned her face away from his, closing her eyes against the despair that squeezed at her heart. "I… need time to consider your proposal."

Jack snorted and let her go. "But not too much, I hope. I must say – you can't watch me all the time, _Miss Swann_. And that mirror is _awfully_ tempting."

Her head whipped around and rage welled within her as she glared at him. If Jack Sparrow thought that she was so easily blackmailed, he had another think coming. "Well, far be it from me to allow you to succumb to such temptation!" she snapped.

Roughly elbowing Jack aside, she brought up the muzzle of her weapon and fired a shot directly into the middle of the glass. Calypso's mirror shattered with a sound like a piercing shriek, exploding into jagged silver shrapnel that pelted the two of them like snow in a blizzard. Elizabeth brought her hands up to her face, trying to keep the splinters from scoring her flesh.

Shards tinkled to the deck around them, tiny chimes ringing on the darkened planks. Each one transformed as it hit the floor, changing into a drop of water. The carved mounting cracked and collapsed like waterlogged timber, the tiny figures becoming indistinguishable as the frame disintegrated into rotting, black chunks.

"What have you done?" Jack whispered in shock as he gaped at the destruction her single shot had wrought. The mirror had become a dark, murky mess beneath their feet and there was nothing left that could claim to hold otherworldly powers.

"Evened the playing field...removed your leverage. It was you who taught me the danger of making oneself too vulnerable, Jack. You must at least give me credit for learning my lessons well."

For a moment, his face filled with a fury so intense that she instinctively backed up a step. She had not seen Jack exhibit such cold hatred since he'd shot Hector in the cavern on Isla de Muerta. He lunged at her and grabbed her shoulders, all but throwing her against the wall where the mirror had rested. "You've changed absolutely nothing," he growled with quiet menace, his teeth bared fiercely and his rum-tinged breath hot on her face. "If you don't persuade Barbossa to hand over the _Black Pearl_, I'll disappear with the chart once we reach Tortuga and you can get started digging your lover's grave. You have a choice to make."

"You'll have my answer when I'm ready, _Sparrow_," she spat back at him with equal fury. "If you don't get out of my way right fucking now, I'm going to scream and bring the wrath of the Blackhearts down on your weasely hide. When they finish with you, you'll not need worry about sailing on any ship save the _Flying Dutchman_."

Her vitriol must have startled Jack, for he released her at once and stumbled back. Suddenly sick to her stomach over his unexpected threats, Elizabeth pushed past him and rushed up the stairs to escape the stifling hold and find the dusk's cool air.

* * *

Although it would have been his right to assign the last watch on the wheel to one of his men, sailing beneath the heavens had always been one of Barbossa's private pleasures. When the ocean was calm and the sky clear, there was nothing as brought peace to a man's soul like following the glowing moon and countless stars on a smooth journey towards an invisible horizon.

Of course, there had been a time when the rising of a full moon had meant anything but serenity for him and his men, but that world was so far behind him now as to seem a distant nightmare and nothing more. He had the spray of the sea against his face, the splashing whisper of the water against the hull of the _Pearl_ and the quiet solitude of a perfect North Atlantic night, and it would be a fool who'd think it anything but paradise.

He heard the heavy door to the captain's cabin slam beneath him and watched silently as his beloved Elizabeth made her way out on deck, her path lit by the pale moonbeams. Although she had to know he was at the helm, she didn't so much as glance up at the quarter deck. Instead, she sidled slowly towards the rail at amidships, hugging her silky white robe to her body as it fluttered in the light breeze. Her hair was loose as it always was when she retired, and the glossy locks blew around her face as she rested her elbows on the gunwale and stared out into the inky darkness.

Hector frowned thoughtfully as he watched her. She'd not been herself for weeks but whenever he asked about her melancholy mood, she always smiled gently and reassured him that she was perfectly fine. It wasn't that she seemed angry, at least not with him, but there was no denying that she was troubled by something, and he only wished she'd reveal her worries to him. It was all the more distressing because he truly thought that once she'd made her peace with Turner, they'd be able to start a new life for themselves. It was what they had fought for...killed for..._died for_. But if her feelings were not what he thought, what could he do?

As if sensing the weight of his gaze upon her, she turned towards him. Her expression was hidden by the shadows across her face but she appeared to be pausing in thought, unsure of how to proceed. After a few moments, she apparently came to a decision of some sort and glided across the deck, her delicate hand sliding along the banister as she ascended the stairs to join him.

"My love," he greeted her softly, holding out a hand and pulling her to his side once she took it. "I'd have thought ye fast asleep by now." He slid his free arm possessively around her waist and she cuddled closer, laying her head against his shoulder and slipping her hand inside of his shirt so she could rest her fingers over his heart.

She was quiet at first and her embrace stiff, and he knew she was working up the nerve to reveal to him whatever had been keeping her awake at night and troubling her mind by day. Although he was worried and anxious over the weighty burden she was carrying, he remained silent. She'd come to it in her own good time and he knew there was no use trying to force it out of her.

"Do you remember," Elizabeth began hesitantly, stroking his chest as she spoke, "that you once asked me that if the world was ours for the taking, what would be my fondest desire?"

Hector smiled at the memory. He'd put forth the question after she'd finally confessed to her true feelings for him – following an especially enjoyable shower, if he remembered correctly. "I do. Ye said that ye'd want to ride with me again, flying down the road forever. I've no aversion to offerin' ye such a ride, girl, but I'm afraid that me bike be long gone."

Resisting his attempt at humour, she leaned back so she could gaze up into his face, her features sombre and serious. "You told me then that if forever was yours to give me, I'd have it. I want you to fulfill that promise."

He smiled hesitantly, not really understanding what she was getting at. "Whatever days be left to me..." he started, but she shook her head and he let his words trail off.

"No. That's not what I meant." Elizabeth slid around his body so she stood in front of him, caught between him and the wheel. "I don't want to be left alone," she whispered, spreading her fingers over his coat and smoothing down his lapels. "I want us to be together forever, just like you said."

He stared at her, finally understanding. "Yer speakin' of the Fountain of Youth," he said with a sigh. "Ah, 'Lizabeth, that wellspring don't offer 'ferever' either. A decade, mebbe two...but the gift of immortality ain't one as comes around a second time. Ye might remember that t'was Calypso as changed the waters fer just that one day to meet her own ends. To drink from them now won't give us life everlastin'."

There was a faint hint of panic in her voice. "But even for a few extra decades...if we did it right, we could make those years seem like forever. What would you do, my Captain? What would you be willing to sacrifice if it meant we truly could grow old together?"

"Sacrifice?" he said in surprise, the conversation growing increasingly stranger as it went on. Perhaps the lack of sleep had finally taken its toll on her. "How in heaven's name did ye get such a notion in yer head? Yer barely more than a child and I be far from languishin' on me death bed! What need have we of such sorcery?"

Elizabeth suddenly burst into tears, her sobs wracking her slender body as she tried to speak. She grabbed his arms and clenched them with desperate strength. "Jack has Sao Feng's map but he won't give it up unless you return the _Pearl_ to him," she confessed, her words tumbling forth in a torrent. "And I don't think that there's any way we can possibly find the fountain without the chart...I mean, it's not like you found it yourself in the first place, Calypso had to lead you to it...that's why you were indebted to her a second time! And I'm afraid if I can't convince you to make the trade, Jack might just take matters into his own hands and shoot you again, but this time you'd be dead for good! I love you so much, don't you see that? I can't lose you! Not now and not a few years from now...not until I am ready to go, too! I won't let you just leave me, Hector Barbossa! I will _not_ raise our son by myself!"

Had he not been holding the wheel so tightly, Hector would have staggered backwards in shock. "Our _son_?" he croaked hoarsely.

"Or daughter, I don't know...how could I possibly know?" she wept in despair, hiding her face in her hands. "I didn't mean for this to happen...hell, I didn't even think it _could_ happen. I sort of forgot that I no longer infertile like I was back in Florida. I was okay being barren because I was certain that you wouldn't want to be saddled with a baby anyway…"

"'Lizabeth..." he said, aghast at her revelation. "I never..."

"I know! You never wanted this!" she wailed, ducking out from beneath his arms and stumbling a few feet away. "And I'm sorry, I am, but it's not as if there's a CVS Pharmacy handy at which to purchase birth control pills or condoms, even had I thought to do so..."

"Enough!" he barked. The woman wouldn't let him get a bleeding word in edgewise, and the overwhelming combination of surprise and emotion clouded his thoughts. "If ye'd quit runnin' on at the mouth for one damned minute and let me think..."

Hector's brusqueness silenced her instantly but she gave him no opportunity to speak further. Elizabeth's face crumpled in dismayed hurt at what he'd said and she whirled away from him, gathering her gown in her hands and scampering down the stairs as quickly as her feet would carry her. As she retreated into the cabin and slammed the door behind her, he stood mute, confounded by the turn of events and the disbelief that accompanied the news of his impending fatherhood.

Of course he should have known it was possible and even inevitable that she would get pregnant given the frequency and fervour of their affections. In true male form, he'd assumed she'd taken whatever precautions necessary to prevent such an occurrence. The topic hadn't come up when they'd first engaged in intimate relations back in Key West and he'd not given it a thought since. But her point was well taken...what would she know of methods for birth control as were practiced in the current century? No mother to teach her, no other women in her life that might have enlightened her as to the practices of contraception. His lack of attention to the matter was inexcusable and he had no one to blame but himself for their current predicament.

And yet, even as he pondered it, Hector couldn't quite bring himself to be as upset about the prospect of becoming a parent as Elizabeth supposed him to be. He harboured no small degree of pride in knowing that she carried within her womb the indisputable proof of their love for one another...and that despite fate's best attempts to rid the world of his very presence, Hector Barbossa had persevered and propagated.

Having a child on board a pirate ship was unheard of, but just because it hadn't been done didn't mean it _couldn't_ be done. What other life could there be for the progeny of two legendary pirate lords? There would need to be accommodations made but it was far from impossible to imagine. Knowing his men as he did, they'd be far more likely to welcome than reject having a youngster on board – had they not already helped raise a child when they'd accepted Marilyn into their ranks? The little one would never lack for care or protection, that much was certain.

A child. _His_ child. His heart began to warm at the idea. He or she would be a legacy of the bond Hector shared with Elizabeth, a living testament to their story. Aye, there was more than one way to live forever.

Hector turned his attention to the riggings. "Mister Rackam!" he hollered. "I've need of ye at the helm!"

"Aye, sir!" came a faint reply, and then the shadowy silhouette of a man quickly slid down from the sails by way of a spare line and dropped lightly onto the quarter deck. Rackham stepped in to take the wheel without comment on anything he might have overheard and only the most surreptitious of glances at his captain. Relieved of duty, Hector stormed down the steps to his quarters, impatiently tugging the door open and then yanking it shut behind him again just as brusquely.

Elizabeth leapt to her feet from where she'd been sitting beside the table, his abrupt entrance clearly startling her. Hastily wiping tears from her cheeks, she regained her composure as best she could and straightened her shoulders. "So...have you had sufficient time to think?" she queried stiffly, crossing her arms defensively over her bosom.

"I have," he snarled as he advanced towards her. She shrank back slightly as he approached but bravely met his gaze, staring at him with a mix of apprehension and hope on her face.

Hector tossed his hat aside and suddenly sank to his knees before her, hugging her gently around her waist, pulling her close and resting his cheek against the soft swell of her belly. Elizabeth sobbed in relief and cradled his head in her hands, stroking his hair lovingly as her tears began anew.

"I spoke thoughtlessly," he murmured into the smooth fabric of her robe. "'Tis a blessin' that ye've given me, 'Lizabeth. A child..." Love so intense that it was nearly painful seized him and he was briefly rendered mute in the force of its power.

"_Our_ child, yes," she sniffled happily. "In about five months, if my math is right. Oh, Hector – I've known for weeks but I was so afraid to tell you. I thought that if you didn't hate me outright, you'd at least want to put me ashore. I couldn't have survived being cast out of your life."

"Have ye not yet fathomed the depth of me love?" he said gruffly, his own eyes burning and watery. "Told meself when ye remembered me that never would we be parted, and that be twice as true now. Ain't sayin' it will be an easy life fer a wee one on board a ship, but we'll do what needs doin' to make it work. I care for what be mine – that much ye should know by now."

"Then grant me this one request," she pleaded, cradling his face in her hands. "I want you with me for a very long time to come…for my sake and for our baby's sake. Please…after all we've been through just so we can be together, I can't bear the thought of being left without you."

Barbossa tilted his head up to meet her gaze. "If 'tis what ye want of me, then we'll set sail fer Florida and find the fountain. But we be who we be, girl, and there be few ancient mariners fer a reason. The power of the waters won't do a damned thing to guard me against steel and shot."

She smiled and looked down at him haughtily, achingly beautiful despite her swollen eyes and red nose. "Of course not. That will be _my_ job. Our child needs two parents, Hector, and no one – not Jack Sparrow, not the Grim Reaper nor anyone else - will take you from me. Not while I have anything to say about it."

Hector grinned back at her. "Perhaps we should let Jack partake of some of them magical waters as well. It does me heart good to think that he might be around long enough that our offspring can continue the fine tradition of making his life as difficult as possible."

Elizabeth laughed softly and bent over to bestow a searing kiss upon him, her lips parting with a needful sigh and her tongue sweeping into his mouth to tease him mercilessly. "All we need do is steal the chart from Jack somehow," she moaned against his lips, her breath coming faster. "How many places could it possibly be hidden on the _Pearl_?"

"We needn't search fer it at all," he rasped, pulling her down so that she, too, was kneeling on the threadbare carpet. Hector slipped his fingers underneath the neckline of her satiny robe and pushed it off her shoulders, nipping at the tender skin of her neck.

Her head fell back and she whimpered prettily as she tugged at the leather thong fastening his braid. "What do you mean?" Elizabeth breathed, urging him on with her eager touch as he rid himself of his baldric and coat. Her eyes were shaded with lust and she lunged at him, thrusting her fingers through his hair and kissing him with so much passion that his eyes rolled back in his head.

"I've had the chart since the day after we left Shipwreck Cove," he murmured hoarsely into her mouth, ripping open her bodice and exposing her lovely breasts to his ardent attentions. "Found it right off and replaced it with a bamboo mat I pilfered from the _Empress_."

Elizabeth moaned and arched into his touch but her eyes flew open in surprise at what he'd revealed about the old map. "You had every intention of seeking out the fountain again, even before I told you about the baby?!" she laughed, squirming against him.

"Well, I have me a young bride that I must keep satisfied," he admitted slyly, his hand lightly skimming over her midriff and coming to rest on her stomach. He spread his fingers, marvelling at the child that grew within. "The woman's nigh insatiable...what else was I to do?"

Elizabeth's mischievous grin faded into a much softer, shyer smile, and she placed her hand over top of his. "Your bride? Is that a backwards proposal of sorts?"

"Aye, 'tis. Problem with askin' proper is that I might not get the answer I be seekin'."

She shook her head and smiled bashfully. "Do you honestly believe that?"

Hector gently gripped her elbows and lifted her to her feet as he stood, capturing her lush lips in a tender kiss. Wrapping his arms around her, he caressed her back as he moulded her body to his. "Those that live as we do have little need fer pomp 'n circumstance, 'Lizabeth," he murmured, basking in the scent of her skin and the sweetness of her breath. "And while I be happy to indulge ye in a high-toned ceremony if you ask it of me, I be more inclined to pledge me vows to ye alone...if ye'll have me, that is."

"Yes!" she whispered, her eyes glistening brightly as she swallowed hard. "Yes, of course I'll have you. And I don't care about a formal ritual – it's much better that it be only the two of us. This is too sacred a moment to share."

"True enough. So I say this to ye, 'Lizabeth Swann," he said huskily, closing his eyes and nuzzling against her soft tresses. His heart clenched tightly in his chest, so overwhelmed was he at the depth of his emotions. "Ye stole me heart when first ye came aboard me ship in Port Royal, a firebrand of a girl with the courage to face the scourge of the Seven Seas. And 'though I had to endure all manner of hardship, death, and rebirth to finally find ye again, I'd do it all over again if it meant I could call ye me own. I'll be yer protector...yer lover...yer husband. I cannot promise ye that the seas will always be calm and our lives filled with naught but prosperity and happiness. But I can promise ye this – never will I place another above ye and always will ye have me love."

Elizabeth's breath hitched in her chest and he could tell she was close to weeping yet again. Perhaps it was the babe in her belly that was moving her to tears so often, but he preferred to believe it was the same tide of joy flowing through her as flowed through him. Hector reached behind his neck and unhooked the serpent pendant, holding it up as an offering to her. Her bottom lip quivering, she turned and lifted up her hair, allowing him to encircle her slender throat with the necklace and fasten it in place. He placed a feathery kiss on her nape that provoked a shiver before he smoothed her hair back down.

"Hector Barbossa...my Captain," she said, turning around to face him. The rubies and diamonds of his pendant sparkled in the lamplight, and Elizabeth brought up one trembling hand to clutch the warm silver. "I don't know that I even have the words to do justice to my feelings for you," she said, looking warmly into his eyes. "You have touched my life more deeply than any man I've ever known. When you are away from my side, I feel as if the best part of me is missing and I ache with emptiness. And when we are together, you thrill me, you challenge me, and you bring out my truest and best self in every situation. I haven't anything to give you save myself, but I swear to you that you have all of me...body, heart and soul. From this day forward, I will be your helpmate...your lover...your wife. Of all the uncertainties we will surely face in the years to come, Hector, know that my love will never be one of them."

She had barely finished giving voice to the last word when he seized her in his arms and kissed her passionately, at last claiming her as his only love. Her arms curled up behind him and her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his back as she returned his ardour, her kiss every bit as demanding as his.

"It's done," Elizabeth whispered as she drew away, smiling broadly through her tears. "We're married!"

The pure happiness on her face made Hector feel as though his heart had taken flight. "Wedded fer certain, my love, but to be _properly_ married...well, there be one last duty ye must fulfill before ye can truly call yerself me wife." He arched an eyebrow at her and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her towards their narrow bed.

"Well," she laughed, her eyes glittering as she slid her arms around his neck and tangled her hands in his hair. "I suppose if I must..."


End file.
